


Harry Potter and the Forgotten Lady

by BrailleErin, Hegemone



Series: BrailleErin Blind Harry Potter fics [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blind Character, Blind Harry Potter, Deaf Character, Gen, Guide Dog, Hogwarts, Number Four Privet Drive (Harry Potter), Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, St Mungo's Hospital
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22106113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrailleErin/pseuds/BrailleErin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hegemone/pseuds/Hegemone
Summary: Harry Potter returns to Hogwarts after a year abroad as an exchange student at Durmstrang. He missed the Triwizard Tournament, but not Voldemort's attempt to kidnap him. After overcoming the Dark Lord once again, Harry is looking forward to getting back together with his friends (both from Hogwarts and the ones he made while at Durmstrang) and enjoying a normal year at Hogwarts. But when has anything ever been easy or normal for Harry?This is a continuation of Harry Potter and the Sword of Gryffindor and Harry Potter and the Blind Seer of Durmstrang written by BrailleErin. Hegemone joins BrailleErin to write Harry's 5th year.
Series: BrailleErin Blind Harry Potter fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591198
Comments: 19
Kudos: 70





	1. Tough ol' codger

Harry pulled on Sirius’s arm to get him to stop. 

“What is it, Harry?” Sirius said impatiently as he turned toward him—the echo of their footsteps in the corridor continued on for a second after they stopped walking.

“I’m… well, do you think he’s going to be okay?” Harry asked. 

“I dunno. Let’s go see. He’s a tough ol’ codger, isn’t he? Come on, we’re here,” Sirius said starting to walk forward again. “Door’s right here. Number 102.”

Harry drew in a deep breath—St. Mungo’s odors of pepper-up potion and the peppermint used to vanish the smell of vomit and other bodily fluids pulled deep into his lungs and he coughed a little. 

“You all right?” 

“Yeah, just… well, worried,” Harry admitted as the elevator at the end of the corridor opened and voices and footsteps started down the corridor toward them—reverberating off the corridor walls.

“I’m telling you… it’ll take a lot more than a few Death Eaters to take him down,” Sirius reassured. 

“All right… yeah, let’s go see him,” Harry sighed and shifted the pot of lavender they’d brought as a gift so that leaves brushed against his hand and a bit of the fragrance was released into the air. 

Sirius turned and they went through the door. Sirius was muttering, “… said he’d be in the third bed on the right…” There was coughing from a patient farther down the ward and quiet mutterings of people talking in hushed tones from other areas of the room. 

“Professor O’Carolan?” Sirius asked as he pushed aside curtains—the metal rings singing discordantly as they moved along a pole, “It’s Sirius Black, sir, and Harry Potter is here, too. Dumbledore said that you were recovering and that your release from St. Mungo’s is imminent.”

“Oh, well, hullo!” Professor O’Carolan’s voice was stronger than the last time Harry had heard it and some of his worries fell away. He could hear the rustling of linens and the squeaking of bed springs as he sat up. “I had a feeling I was going to have visitors today. How grand!”

“Hello, Professor. We brought you a potted lavender plant,” Harry said as he stepped forward, holding the pot out. “Thought you might want to plant it later. When you are out of the hospital.”

Sirius stepped around him and took the pot out of his hands and set it on a table nearby.

“Harry, my boy. Why do you sound so nervous?” Professor O’Carolan asked, laughing. “Were you expecting a corpse?” 

“Er, well. I’ve been worried about you, sir,” Harry said. “The last time we talked … well, it felt like you were saying good-bye.”

“Well, I’ve definitely had better months than this one, I can assure you! But I’m fine. Expected to make a full recovery. And at my age, that’s saying something!” the old man chuckled. “So, where is this lavender? Hand it to me. I want to take a look at it. Makes an excellent healing salve. Great for healing burns and bug bites. If only I had a garden… of course, with a garden, I’d be more likely to suffer bug bites!”

“Well, actually, that’s the thing,” Sirius said as he scraped the pot across the table. “We’ve come with a proposal. Here you go. Would you consider living with us at Grimmauld place while you recover and when you’re feeling up to it, continue your tutoring of Harry? We understand that you’re not wanting to return to Durmstrang and well, we have a need for a tutor. In addition to that, we have a potions garden plot that needs tending.” 

“Oh, my. Well, this is unexpected. Let me think,” Professor O’Carolan said. “You want me to come live with you and train Harry? For how long?”

“Well, until Hogwarts starts for the training—but I think Professor Dumbledore has ideas for engaging your talents after that—and the offer to stay with us is open for as long as you want it—for as long as you can tolerate us…” Sirius stated with a laugh. “And I should mention that us includes my friend, Remus Lupin.”

“Oh, well, are you that hard to live with?” Professor O’Carolan asked. 

“Ha! Well, I guess that depends on who you’re asking,” Sirius quipped. 

“He’s fine when he remembers to pick up his towel and clothes and put things back where they belong,” Harry teased. “And to not leave doors ajar.”

“Yeah, I’m learning…” Sirius conceded as he nudged Harry congenially on the arm. “Figures that I’m being schooled on picking up after myself by a teenage boy! James would be taking the mickey out of me if he were here!”

“Well, you’ll have to learn if you’re going to have _two_ blind housemates!” Professor O’Carolan said. “So, Harry, what do you want to learn from me? What kind of training are you needing?”

“Well, I was thinking some more O&M stuff…” Harry said. 

“Stuff?” Professor O’Carolan seemed amused. 

“The lessons were interrupted…” Harry went on, glad that the old professor couldn’t see the color rising in his cheeks. 

“True. I suppose we could carry on where we left off.”

“And some of the ...er… others, you know, were saying that you had a unique way of dueling… you know, when… we met them… and you came,” Harry stumbled through trying to find ways to talk about the Order’s confrontation with the Death Eaters and Voldemort without actually saying it. He had no idea who was in the ward with the professor. “Maybe you could teach me how to duel blind?”

“Yes, that is a unique and hard-won skill I have… it's true. Though my latest escapade wasn’t the best advertisement for those skills! Well, but you’ve convinced me. I will gladly accept your offer, provided that we can reach an agreement about my fees. And for that, I’d like to speak to Mr. Black privately—not in a ward with so many ears about.”

[break]

Harry, Sirius, and Remus with Kreacher’s reluctant help had been working on clearing room in Grimmauld Place for the Professor. It was a room that Sirius loathed—but Harry thought the Professor would like it quite a bit. It was a bit removed from the hub-bub of the rest of the house—in the back on the ground floor—and it had French doors that opened up onto a secluded enclosed garden—the potions garden that had been cleared already of the more dangerous and suspect herbs by Professor Sprout who agreed to take them off their hands. 

In addition to the easy access to the garden, there was a large fireplace that would keep the room warm in the winter and a number of bookshelves for the Professor’s tomes. There was plenty of room for plush chairs by the fireplace and Sirius had managed to enchant an old sofa to transform easily into a comfortable bed with fresh linens on command.

It had been Sirius’s mother’s day room—and held a lot of black memories for Sirius—when pressed about them, he muttered and stormed off to brood for a while—so Harry learned to stop pressing. 

The room apparently held a lot of memories for Kreacher as well as he was prone to uncover some precious trinket, start wailing, and disappear into his hovel in the kitchen until Sirius demanded that he come out again. 

Harry wondered if there was a way to clear the room of those lingering spirits… he didn’t want Sirius to start associating them with Professor O’Carolan. He mentioned it to Remus while they were carefully clearing the bookshelves of Walburga’s collection of dark arts books and pureblood histories. 

“Hmmm. That’s a good question, Harry,” Remus replied. “Maybe Andromeda has some ideas. Tonks is always saying that her mum is a wiz at household spells… I’ll ask her the next time I see her.”

Harry turned back to the bookshelf to hide his smile—running his fingers over the dusty and tattered books. He’d noticed that Professor Lupin seemed to be mentioning Tonks quite a lot lately. 

_Remus. He asked me to call him Remus now that we’re roommates._

Harry grabbed a handful of books off the shelf and accidentally knocked another one off—it fell to the floor in a poof of dust and then an ancient voice started speaking from the same spot on the floor. Harry started, almost dropping the stack of books he was holding.

“... pulverize the bat wings in a black onyx bowl with only counter-clockwise twists of the wrist during the final phase of the full moon…” 

Harry felt Remus reaching around him to grab the book. 

“Hmmm. It must be charmed to speak the instructions so that the wizard can work hands-free—without having to stop to read,” Remus said. 

“That could be useful for me, too,” Harry said setting the stack of books in the trunk they had levitated from the attic to store the books in. He held his hand out—wanting to examine it. 

“Right you are,” Remus agreed absently and turned another page. The ancient voice continued to list ingredients and directions for another potion recipe. It sounded like something from an old movie. Harry was imagining the narrator to be Vincent Price from the haunting shows that Dudley would watch when his parents were out because they never let him watch anything that remotely alluded to magic.

“Can I take a look at it?” Harry asked. 

“Oh, right. So sorry, Harry. Here you go,” Remus said as he placed the small volume in Harry’s waiting hand. 

As he felt the book (it had a thin leather cover), then turned the pages, he realized that it was responsive to his fingertips and would start over when he touched the page or speed ahead to a spot if he touched farther down in the text (that he couldn’t see, but he could feel the slight texture of the embossed words—it was an old publication that used a thick ink). 

“This is a really cool charm. How do we find out how to do it?” Harry wondered. 

“Hmmm. I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to research it—maybe ask Professor Flitwick or Hermione…”

Harry’s fingers were skimming over the text as he mused and he heard a word that caught his attention. He went back to it. “ _Caeco._ ”

Harry gasped. 

“What is it?” 

“That’s the curse… that’s the curse that Riddle used to blind me.” Harry was barely able to utter the words… he was suddenly in that dank room again, his mind racing, trying to figure out how to evade Voldemort’s mind. 

Harry realized he was taking short, shallow breaths and he drew in a deep breath and tried to steady himself. His hands trembled as they held the book, his finger hovering over the spot so that the text kept repeating the word over and over again, “ _Caeco, Caeco, Caeco._ ” 

_ Maybe this book also has the counter curse, maybe there was a way to undo it. Merlin, to get back what I had! _ Harry thought.

He willed his hand to still and found the spot in the book where his finger had landed first. 

He listened with bated breath; Remus sat motionless beside him as the book read through the curse and what it did. It was hard to hear it stated so impassionately… “remove all light from your foe’s sight… plunge them into the depths of darkness.”

It went on to describe in poetic monotony how the enemy would not only flounder and fumble and be unable to cast any curse without vision, but that they’d give up and offer themselves—completely surrender in despair. 

Harry gritted his teeth and kept listening, trying not to hope too much.

_ There’s not going to be a counter-curse,  _ he thought.

Then there it was and Harry and Remus gasped simultaneously. Harry sat down hard on the floor—he realized that he had been hovering in a half-crouch while listening to the book and his hamstrings were cramping. 

“That’s it! There’s a counter curse!” Harry jumped up and closed the book with his finger still on the spot—not wanting to lose it. 

“Harry, this is incredible! It’ll take time and preparation, but we can do it!”

“Do you think Professor Snape might help us?” Harry was reaching for his white cane that was leaning against the wall by the bookshelf.

“I dunno—but it’s worth asking. Why don’t we talk to Professor Dumbledore and see if he can talk to Severus for us? Yes—that might be the way to approach it. Also, Professor Dumbledore would like to speak to you… I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it. He wants you to return to the Dursleys for a short stint this summer.”

“What!?” Harry stopped and turned slowly to face Remus.

“Now, Harry. I know it isn’t ideal—but there’s something about the blood protection from Lily that is connected to their home. Professor Dumbledore says that it needs to be renewed each year.”

“Ugh. I don’t want to go back there.” His shoulders dropped and he hung his head.

“I know. Sirius has offered to go with you—as Padfoot. He even said that he’d pretend to be your guide dog so that they have no excuse but to let him stay with you the whole time.” 

“Really? He’d do that? Wouldn’t it drive him nuts to be in a harness?”

“I think it might, but he’s willing to do it for you.” 

“He’d never be able to control himself around Uncle Vernon… I don’t know.”

“Well, let’s finish up here—we’re almost done, and then we can go talk to Sirius—where is he? Is he sulking again?—and then floo to Hogwarts to talk to Professor Dumbledore. We should have him look at this book anyway—he’ll want to assure that it is reliable information before we start working on the countercurse.”

Harry walked back to the bookshelf and stashed his cane, kneeling back down where he had been sitting before. His initial excitement at finding the countercurse dampened by the thought of enduring the Dursleys again. 

_ Maybe I’ll be at least able to see shadows again, though, that could make it easier to be with them, _ he reassured himself.


	2. Hell's Angels

Harry stood in Dumbledore’s office, absently stroking Fawkes, whose feathers felt old and ragged today, as Harry himself felt inside. For soon, he had to go back to the Dursleys.

Two long weeks...

But then he would be done. He could stand it for two weeks. It wouldn’t be all summer, anyway. 

He half-turned as the door opened and several people strode in. 

“Mr. Potter,” greeted Professor Dumbledore. “I am glad to see you. Have a lemon drop.”

“No, thank you,” said Harry politely, his stomach turning at the thought of the sour candy. 

“I have been examining the counter-curse in this book with Professor Flitwick, and we have decided it is worth performing on your eyes, if you are agreed?” Dumbledore continued. 

“You don’t have to, you know,” spoke up Sirius protectively. “Dark magic can be unpredictable.”

“No! Errr… yes, please. I want to try, please?” pleaded Harry. 

“Yes, we will give it a go,” said Dumbledore. “It will need to be combined with a very special potion that Professor Snape has agreed to create—thank you, Severus—so we won’t be able to perform the spell for some weeks.”

Disappointment bit at Harry’s insides. He’d imagined that Dumbledore would be able to just point his wand at Harry and poof! the curse would be reversed. 

Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. 

“The next thing to discuss is your relatives,” continued Dumbledore. 

“How long does he have to stay there?” asked Sirius immediately. 

“Two weeks is the absolute minimum amount of time that you need to live under the same roof as your mother’s sister,” explained Dumbledore kindly, as if he knew how terrible those two weeks would be. 

“Maybe Sirius can come with me? As a dog… a guide dog… you know?” asked Harry. Aunt Marge’s little fat Boxer was one thing. A huge furry, slobbering, shedding Sirius was something else entirely. The Dursleys would never agree. 

“Yes, this has been mentioned as a possible solution… what do you think, Sirius?” Professor Dumbledore asked. 

Harry turned to face Sirius quickly—he had hardly dared to hope that this ridiculous plan… terribly flawed plan… brilliant plan would be deemed acceptable. He held his breath.

“It’s not for long,” said Sirius. “I think we can pull it off—the whole guide dog thing. Professor O’Carolan has agreed to … er… train us. He knows what the harness should look like so that it is authentic.” 

“Perhaps he can fit a muzzle on you, too, while he’s at it,” growled Snape. “Really. As if this is at all necessary. There are far worse things than two weeks with some measly muggles.”

As the heat rose in Harry’s cheeks, he felt his godfather shifting next to him—heard his sharp intake of breath at the barb.

“Severus, please,” Professor Dumbledore said. “Excellent, excellent. Yes, we’ll enlist Professor O’Carolan’s services. I’ll send an owl to your Aunt and Uncle posthaste letting them know to expect you on Monday morning.” 

The professor’s robes swished past Harry as he swept to his desk and soon there was the sound of a quill scratching against parchment. 

“Come, Harry,” said Sirius after a rather awkward silence in which Harry imagined Sirius and Snape glaring at each other. “Time to go.”

Harry followed his godfather out of Dumbledore’s office and down the moving spiral staircase. On one hand, he felt deflated—not only would it be weeks before the counter curse could be performed, but he would have to stay with the Dursleys in the meantime—Monday was the day after tomorrow!—and on the other hand, Sirius would be with him at the Dursleys! Some of the air that had escaped, filled him again and he felt buoyed as he followed the sound of Sirius’s shoes on the moving stone steps. 

[break]

“So, here’s your leather jacket back, Sirius—go ahead and try it on again, transform, and we’ll see if the modification works better this time,” Professor O’Carolan said as he strode across the kitchen toward Sirius. 

Remus’s attempt to stifle his laughter was not very effective and Harry swatted his arm. 

“Remus, this has to work!” Harry hissed. 

“I know, I know, but Harry! If you could have seen it, you’d understand… it was just too funny. It’s almost as if he did it on purpose… but I don’t suppose he did. I mean, he can’t see it either… so what’s the point of making Sirius look like he’s riding with the Hell’s Angels? I mean, does O’Carolan even know what a biker looks like?” Remus whispered, almost bursting into laughter again. 

“What are you two getting on about over there? Care to share with the rest of us?” the Professor asked from the other side of the kitchen. 

“Nothing, nothing… just looking forward to seeing Padfoot in his harness and guiding Harry around the neighborhood,” Remus chuckled. 

“Likely story,” Sirius barked mid-transformation and then there was the signature thud of dog paws on the kitchen floor, nails scrabbling around as he found his footing. This time, though, there was a jingle of metal and leather.

“It worked this time?” Harry asked, standing up.

“Yes, indeed. That’s more like it,” Remus said. 

Padfoot ran over to Harry, knocking into the bench and thrashing everything in his way with his tail, the leash trailing behind him. It caught on the bench, beginning to drag the wooden bench along the floor.

“Come, Padfoot. Come,” hollered O’Carolan, attempting to untangle the dog and put the bench back where it belonged. “You know that you have to do your paces with me first, ornery mutt!” 

Padfoot jumped up on Harry’s thighs and gave him a big slobbery lick on his face while Harry’s hands traced over the harness, trying to get a sense of it. There was fabric around his chest, then a leather harness that fit snugly around his midsection, and a thin metal handle that seemed rather spindly, but was strong, nonetheless. A thin leather leash swung from a collar around his neck and trailed on the floor.

“That’s behavior very unbecoming of a guide dog, Padfoot. What did we talk about?” Professor O’Carolan said sternly. 

Padfoot whined, jumping down and ran back to O’Carolan, his tail still whacking everything in its way, while Harry wiped his face on his sleeve. 

“All right, I’m going to take a few paces with Padfoot, take him through the commands again as a dog and then I’ll show you how to hold his harness and give commands. Let’s move into the hallway—there’s no room to move in here.”

They were mindful of the need to work quietly in the hallway so as not to disturb the portrait of Madame Black. 

Harry listened as Padfoot and the professor went through the paces again—going through the list of commands—Come, Sit, Stay, Down, Stand, Forward, Leave it, Okay, Hupup (a German command for keep going), and so on. Before Padfoot had transformed, Professor O’Carolan had described what Sirius supposed to do in each instance—exactly how he should stand or sit, what direction he should be pointing and how to alert Harry to obstacles in his path (such as stopping if there was something that he’d hit his head on). 

It was a mark of how much Sirius wanted to stay with Harry at the Dursleys that he went along with it as well as he did. His joyful yipping alone set the portrait to howling discordantly about the filth in her home when the professor finally announced that he had done well. 

Out on the doorstep with her curses muffled by the sturdy oak door, Professor O’Carolan conceded, “Well, he’d never pass guide dog training, but I think he’ll do well enough to pass for a week with your muggles. Harry—now it’s your turn. You’ll need to be firm with him—don’t let him get away with his silliness. Remind him of his role.”

Harry agreed, but he was more concerned about what Sirius would do if… no, when … the Dursleys went off on one of their tirades about Harry, his family, his freakishness. He was always more easy-going as Padfoot, maybe it would be okay? Of course, the alternative was to go it alone, but he dreaded the thought and pushed it away. 

Sirius will be able to do this, right?

Padfoot leaned against Harry’s leg as Professor O’Carolan showed Harry how to loop the leash over his finger and hold the leash while grasping the harness. It was more complicated than he imagined. 

“Are we going to walk around the neighborhood?” Harry asked. 

“In a minute. Let’s go through the commands first. Take him through them.”

Padfoot complied with every command perfectly and according to Remus, was a very convincing guide dog. Professor O’Carolan was pleased as well. Harry knew it was too good to be true, but he didn’t argue. He wanted this as badly as Sirius did. 

“Shall we take a turn around the street, then?” Professor O’Carolan asked when Padfoot jumped up from his Down position to sit attentively by Harry’s left side at the command. Harry could feel Padfoot wiggling with anticipation, but he stayed by his side, waiting for instructions. 

At the word ‘Forward,’ Padfoot pulled Harry to the top of the step. 

The evening air was a relief from the stifling hallway and Harry felt the breeze cool the sweat in his fringe and at the base of his neck as Padfoot paused on the front stoop of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry felt around on the step until he found the edge of the step with his toe and then directed Padfoot down the steps to the pavement. 

“Harry, I heard you shuffling at the top of the steps. Let’s do that again. Are you finding the first step with your right foot and then stepping down with your left as I told you?” Professor O’Carolan admonished.

“No, sir,” Harry said. 

“Go to the top and do it again.”

Finally, after a few false starts, the professor was satisfied and told Harry to give the “Right” command and they turned toward the east and before he had finished uttering the command “Forward” Padfoot was pulling him down the street at an eager pace. Harry tugged on the harness as he tried to keep up. 

“Come on, Padfoot, not so fast,” Harry panted as he pulled back on the harness, trying to get him to walk at a more comfortable pace. His shoulder felt as though it was being pulled out of his socket; at the same time, it felt really good to be walking so fast and so confidently.

“That’s always the way of it with guide dogs,” Professor O’Carolan remarked. “They just walk faster than humans. You’ll need to get used to it… at least for a couple of weeks!”

Padfoot swerved against Harry’s legs and Harry stumbled as he was pushed to the right. He felt leaves from a tree brush his forehead and realized that he had just narrowly missed being slapped in the face with the entire branch. 

“Padfoot, that was too close! Pay closer attention,” Remus uttered an alarmed cry from behind them. “He nearly walked Harry into a low hanging branch.” 

Padfoot whined in response. 

“It’s okay. We can do this,” Harry encouraged and he was in the middle of telling Padfoot to move forward, when the professor interrupted him. 

“No, you need to go through that part again. Harry. You need to stop and bring Padfoot back and go through it again so that he knows what he needs to do. He’s not going to understand unless you take him through his paces.” Professor O’Carolan was adamant and they walked through the low hanging branches again and again (much to the dismay of a few harassed muggles on their way to work who muttered their impatience as they made their way around the small group blocking the pavement). 

“Make sure you praise him! And give him a piece of that bacon you have in your pocket!”

Padfoot’s tail whacked against Harry’s legs as he swallowed the bacon. 

Harry picked up his pace and tried to match Padfoot’s strides, but felt out of step as if he was trotting along beside Padfoot in an ungainly manner, trying to pull his arm back so that his shoulder wouldn’t be yanked out of its socket. He was starting to feel sore. They were nearing the corner of the street—Harry could hear the traffic getting louder. Padfoot slowed and then came to a stop at the corner—waiting for Harry to listen, find the curb with his right toe, and determine when it was safe to cross. Remus and Professor O’Carolan came up behind them and stood quietly. 

Harry listened while a lorry approached, then a Vespa sped by, and afterward, certain it was clear, gave the command to Padfoot to move forward, but Padfoot stood solidly and didn’t budge. He did growl.

“Forward, I said Forward, Padfoot!” Harry commanded with exasperation.

Why was he being so thick? 

“Forward!” Harry took a step off the curb and pulled at the harness. Padfoot gave a sharp bark and launched himself in front of Harry’s legs pushing him back and Harry felt something silent wing by him as Remus called out in alarm. 

“Was that a cyclist?” Harry gasped as he stumbled to regain his footing. “Thank you, Padfoot. I should have listened better.” 

“Yes, that one is on you, son,” the Professor admonished. “You can’t walk around your guide dog. Remember, he can’t tell you what he sees except with his body. That is how he tells you. It’s your job to listen. Try again.”

Heat creeping up the back of his neck, Harry apologized to Padfoot and walked back up the pavement a few steps to try again.

They made it across the street this time. Harry, still feeling wobbly from the close encounter with the cyclist, directed Padfoot to take a left when he could feel the breeze between buildings on his face. The way the sounds bounced off the walls told him that they were in a narrow passage between buildings now, the pavement beneath his feet had given way to the crunching of gravel and then his feet sank into plush grass and he felt the air above him open up—they had reached the park. The noises of the city were muffled by hedgerows and trees and the scent of freshly cut grass and faint musk of decaying leaves filled his lungs as he breathed deeply. 

“Want to run, Padfoot?” Harry asked in a low voice as Professor O’Carolan and Remus’s feet crunched on the gravel, echoing off the alleyway’s walls. He knew that the park was wide open here—fringed with trees, but just a grassy field in the center. He ached to run. It had been ages. 

Padfoot started forward at a trot and Harry stretched his legs, striding out and then jogging alongside the panting dog—his harness jingling, the leather creaking. He made sure to hold his left hand far enough from his body that his running feet did not step on Padfoot's paws, which were never quite the safe distance away that Harry imagined them to be. It was a glorious freedom… even better than flying on his broom in some ways because he could feel the earth reverberating underneath the soles of his feet and the way the pounding vibrated up through his bones. 

Padfoot guided him in an arc to their left so that they were gradually turning and heading back to the center of the park, the voices of the professors growing more discernible as they approached. Harry’s foot caught on something—a mound of earth—and he ran stumbling for a bit, trying to right himself by tugging on Padfoot’s harness, and then let go and tumbled to the wet ground in a heap. Padfoot barked, stuck his cold nose under Harry’s chin, then determining that Harry was laughing and not crying, pounced on him, his tongue dragging rivers of solid saliva from his neck to his forehead. Harry was trying to protect his face from Padfoot’s tongue at the same time he struggled to get away and sit up. Professor Lupin and Professor O’Carolan were laughing too hard to be of any use to him. 

“Well, I suppose he held it together for as long as he was able,” Professor O’Carolan hooted. 

“What do you mean? It’s only been an hour… he’s got to stay in character for two weeks…” Remus berated. 

“It’ll do.”


	3. Clodfoot

Early on Monday morning, Harry and Padfoot stopped at the gated entrance to the path that led to the door at Number 4 Privet drive. Padfoot leaned against his leg and whined, then resumed panting heavily. They had walked the few blocks from the train station, but it felt like they had traveled a great distance. Harry had placed all of his worldly possessions (and some of Sirius’s as well) in the mokeskin pouch that Sirius had given him for his birthday a couple of years ago. On his back, he had a knapsack to hold the muggle money, a water bottle, a traveling dog bowl, some sandwiches, bacon treats for Padfoot, and other items that they’d need while they were traveling.

They had used the trip to practice working together in the muggle world by navigating turnstiles and ticket booths instead of apparating. It had been harder than Harry imagined, mostly because of the press of people on a Monday morning. Padfoot had yelped more than once when distracted passengers had stepped on him. At least they had a reverse commute. Now they were at the gate, the early morning breeze carrying the smell of bangers and mash along with the petrol of passing cars. Harry swallowed a bit of bile that had crept up the back of his throat.

They had all decided that it would be better if it was just Harry and Padfoot who arrived at Privet Drive. No need to stir up trouble with Vernon and Petunia by forcing their company with Remus and Professor O’Carolan if they could help it. 

Harry wasn’t sure, now that he was standing at the gate, if it was the best decision. Maybe threatening the Dursleys with a bit of werewolf menace wouldn’t be such a bad idea. The only thing that comforted him was knowing that Sirius was by his side, even if the Dursleys just saw him as an overly large guide dog. 

He sucked in a deep breath and made the hand motion to direct Padfoot forward, saying “Forward.” 

They walked along the path fringed with spent Albus Agapantha—their leaves rustling in the mild July breeze. Padfoot stopped in front of the step and Harry slid his foot forward finding it with the toe of his trainer, then said, “Forward” again while he motioned to Padfoot to continue forward. 

On the front stoop, with dread pooling in his belly, Harry reached out and found the door. He rapped his knuckles hard on the wood, knowing that the doorbell always irritated Aunt Petunia. It wasn’t really a kindness, but a bit of self-preservation to knock.

He could, of course, let himself in. He knew the door wouldn’t be locked. But that would also irritate his Aunt. 

He could hear her clipped footsteps approaching the door and held his breath—thankful that they had had the good sense to arrive after Uncle Vernon had left for work but before Dudley would be up. The front door was yanked open and a blast of air flowed over Harry containing the invasive spores of years of heartache, loneliness, and misery.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “And why do you have a dog of all things? You’re not… he’s not! No dog is living here!” 

“Aunt Petunia,” Harry started, his throat clenching as he did his best to maintain his temper. “Professor Dumbledore sent you a letter explaining. I have a guide dog. This is Padfoot.”

“Right—a letter from that old fool… just to turn our lives upside down again. I never said it was okay. That stick thing was bad enough—announcing to the whole world that you’re defective. As if! Here! A dog is a huge mess. I won’t be cleaning up after it.”

“He’s a very well-behaved dog,” Harry said, nudging Padfoot slightly with his knee to quell the low growl that had started when she called Harry defective.

Padfoot sat down and licked Harry’s hand. 

“Awful, hairy things. I don’t want it in my house.”

“Well, I suppose… we can just camp out here on the front lawn… where all the neighbors can see. After all, we don’t have to be inside the house for the magic to work,” Harry said slyly as he slid his travel sack from his back as if he were going to start getting settled. 

He said the word “magic” a bit louder than was strictly necessary.

“Oh!” Aunt Petunia shrieked. “Language! Get in here. Just… you’ll be cleaning up all his messes. I won’t tolerate dog hair everywhere. And no dog messes in the backyard.” 

She grabbed Harry by the collar and hauled him inside. Padfoot managed to push against her legs and she let go. 

“He licked me!” Petunia cried indignantly as she let go of his collar. 

“Oh, well, he must like you,” Harry said, turning his face so that she couldn’t see him laughing. 

He didn’t waste any time lingering and motioned Padfoot to head up the stairs and then into his little bedroom. He closed the door firmly, set the travel sack down at the foot of the bed—taking care to make sure it didn’t stick out the side, then collapsed onto his bed laughing. 

“Gah! How have you managed all these years?” Sirius said. “She called you defective! It was all I could do to not bite her!”

“Hush, Sirius—you can’t let her hear you speaking!” Harry sat up abruptly. 

“Sorry, but seriously, she’s horrid,” Sirius said in a stage whisper that wasn’t much better. “I always thought Lily was exaggerating.”

“That was actually very civil. You’re going to have to work on holding back if we’re going to make it through these two weeks. If you think she says vile things, just wait until Uncle Vernon comes home.”

Sirius paced back and forth in the tiny room a bit and gradually his rapid breathing calmed.

“Okay, but I need to use the bathroom—I suppose you’ll have to take me in there as Padfoot, but could you leave me alone while I do my business?”

“Hmm. Yeah—but as long as Dudley’s still sleeping. They are going to wonder what a dog is doing in the bathroom by himself.”

“I can hear your cousin calling the hogs from here—can’t you?”

“Yeah—okay, go ahead and transform.”

Sirius transformed and there was the jangle of the harness, but then there was the familiar popping noise, and Sirius had clearly transformed back to his human form. 

“What is this here?” 

“Hush, Sirius! She’ll hear you.”

“Harry, what is this? Why is this here?”

“Shush. Really! I don’t know what you’re talking about. Describe it, please.” Harry tried to use a soothing voice, but his voice broke in alarm at the thought of both his aunt and cousin breaking down the door because they could hear a man’s voice in Harry’s room. 

“There is a cat flap on your bedroom door,” Sirius hissed… it terms of noise it was an improvement, but still, it was loud. 

“Oh.” Harry had forgotten about the cat door. He stepped back a couple of paces and sank onto the lumpy mattress. “Uh. Yeah. That. Hey—at least the bars on my window are gone—thanks to Fred and George.”

He waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the window. 

Sirius was by him in an instant, settling down on the bed next to Harry, his arm around his shoulders, drawing him into a side-along hug, his unshaven chin scratching across Harry’s forehead until he planted a kiss on the top of his head. 

“Okay. I see this is going to be harder than I thought. And I thought my family was bad. I need to pull myself together or I’m going to hex the lot of them inside out. I still might, mind you. But I promised I’d try.” Sirius let out a long sigh and stood up. “I think this will be easier as a dog.” 

Padfoot’s toenails scratched the bare wood floor of the smallest room as his harness jangled into place again and he padded to the door and whined softly. 

Harry stood up and followed him slowly, then felt along his body to find the harness and leash, allowing his fingers to dig into Padfoot’s warm, thick coat a bit before holding the harness to take him to the bathroom. 

Harry listened at the door, confirmed that Aunt Petunia was washing dishes in the kitchen and Dudley was still snoring in his room, then motioned to Padfoot to cross the landing to the bathroom. He closed the door, careful not to catch Padfoot’s wagging tail and then leaned against the door frame while he waited. 

He turned to face the door when he heard the toilet flush and the water in the sink, then a few moments later the sound of the jangling harness and Padfoot’s toenails on the tile. Padfoot scratched at the door.

Harry turned the doorknob slowly and opened the door a crack. Padfoot stuck his nose through then forced the door open, dragging his harness against the door so loudly that Harry jumped. 

He started again when he heard a groggy, “What the bloody…Why is there a dog in our loo? Did he? Was he? Flushing?”

“Dudley, you’re still dreaming. Go back to bed. I’m not even home yet,” Harry said as he gathered up Padfoot’s harness and leash and then walked back to his room and closed the door behind them. 

Harry landed on the bed and stuffed his pillow in his mouth to drown out his laughter while Padfoot tried to lick his ear. He rolled over and made room on the bed for Padfoot to lie down next to him. Padfoot whined instead of jumping up and shook his harness. 

“Oh, yeah. You should take that off now that we’re here. Oh, wait. I should practice taking it off you, huh? In case I have to do it in front of them some time.” 

Harry sat up and felt for the buckles that held the harness securely on Padfoot’s body and worked them loose. Finding all the buckles and figuring out how to undo them was fiddly work, but Padfoot was still, mostly. He licked at Harry’s ears as he bent his head over the dog. Harry laughed, pushed Padfoot’s wet nose away from the side of his face and attempted to dry his ear by rubbing it against his shoulder.

“I better go downstairs, Padfoot. Aunt Petunia won’t let me stay up here for long. I have to start working on my chores. You can stay in here or you can run around the back yard.” 

Padfoot answered by trotting over to the door and scratching lightly at it. 

“But Padfoot, you can’t be in the way. Aunt Petunia won’t allow it,” Harry spoke sternly to the dog as he followed him to the door after carefully hanging the harness on the bedpost. 

Padfoot whined in response and then yawned and shook his head sending a bit of spittle that landed on Harry’s arm. He wiped it off and opened the door a crack to listen. Dudley was still in the toilet. 

Harry walked across the hallway with Padfoot pressed against his leg. He didn’t need to think about the distances as traveling around in the dark at Privet Drive was part of his muscle memory given how many times he’d snuck down to the kitchen to eat in the middle of the night. He trailed his fingers on the railing as he walked quietly down the stairs, mindful of the stair that creaked. Padfoot just ran down the stairs making a terrible racket with his long toenails, thumping tail, and heavy paws. 

_Padfoot? More like clodfoot!_

Harry wanted to hiss at Sirius to be more quiet, but now that he was in the hallway, he was hyper aware that Aunt Petunia could be close by. He held out his knuckles to trail along the wall to the kitchen. Padfoot was whining by the cupboard under the stairs and scratching at the door. 

“Padfoot, what are you doing? Don’t do that. Aunt Petunia will skin you if you scratch up the wood!”

Padfoot made a low growl and pressed so firmly against Harry’s leg that Harry had to press back to avoid stumbling. 

“I’ll tell you about that later,” Harry sighed. “Come on. It’s time to do chores. Remember to behave. Don’t make it worse for me.”

“Are you talking to that mutt?!” Petunia shouted from the kitchen. “Stop lazing about and get in here. I need you to whip up the lemon curd.” 

Harry stiffened and turned toward the kitchen. He touched the doorframe with the back of his hand and then walked the few steps to the counter top. Padfoot walked next to him. 

“No dogs in my kitchen. Out, out with you!” Petunia shrieked and Harry felt the tail of her dish cloth as it whipped against his leg. Padfoot stood his ground and growled at her. 

“Aunt Petunia. Please. He’s my guide dog. He belongs with me. He will be good, I promise.”

“He’s not guiding you now. He hasn’t got his thingy on. He can go out in the yard.” 

“He wants to stay with me, though, while I work.”

“If I find a single dog hair in any of our food, I’ll… I’ll… throw you both out!” 

“Fine. We’d probably be more comfortable camping out in the yard anyway.”

Petunia snapped the dishtowel and it snapped against Harry’s arm, stinging. It was so out of the blue that Harry jumped. Padfoot growled. 

“Easy, Padfoot, easy,” Harry said in low tones, bending to put a hand on Padfoot’s neck, feeling the rumbling of the growl. 

“Don’t you speak to me in those tones, freak,” Petunia shrieked. 

Padfoot stepped between them, his growl becoming more menacing. 

“Don’t call me that,” Harry said in an even voice.

“I’ll call you what I like,” Petunia said, though her voice betrayed a tremble and Harry realized that she was afraid of Padfoot. “You are a freak!”

Padfoot barked and lunged, his jaws snapping while Petunia screamed. 

“Mum? Are you all right?” Dudley called from upstairs and his heavy steps thudded down the stairs.

“That dog! He understood me!” Petunia shouted hysterically as Dudley came thundering into the kitchen. 

Harry heard the pop and felt Sirius’s hand on his arm. 

“Sirius! Seriously?” Harry shouted, turning toward him. 

“Hush Harry, I’ve got this. _Obliviate!_ ”

“Sirius, what are you doing?” Harry seethed, his voice breaking.

“Who are you?” Petunia asked, her voice sounding a bit slurred. 

“Harry has a guidedog, Padfoot, who you adore and feed copious amounts of bacon. You will treat Harry with kindness and respect. You love him as a son…”

“Sirius, don’t do that. That would be awful. Look at Dudley. I don’t want that.”

“Oh, right. You will not treat Harry as a son, but as a respected member of this family. You will forget that you saw me transform from a dog and back again.” There was a pop and Padfoot’s tail whacked against Harry’s knee. 

“Harry, let me get some bacon for that beautiful dog of yours! Please, sit down at the table. You must be tired from your journey. Would you like some tea?”

Harry stood for a second in stunned silence, then sputtered, “Sure, Aunt Petunia. That would be lovely.” He walked over to the dining room table and found a chair to settle in, Padfoot’s toenails clicking on the tile floor beside him.

“Dudders, dear. Put the kettle on, would you? That’s a dear.”

Harry was amazed to hear Dudley filling the kettle and settling it on the stove. He could hear him turning the knobs on the stove, but couldn’t hear the gas igniting. 

“Mum! It’s not turning on!”

“Oh, here, dear. Let me get it. You need to hold it here until it lights.” 

There was a loud whooshing noise as the extra gas lit up and it sounded like both Petunia and Dudley jumped back. 

Padfoot settled at Harry’s feet, laying his head across his trainers, while Harry listened in amazement as Dudley learned how to make a cup of tea.

[break]

Harry felt as though he were living in an alternate reality when Uncle Vernon arrived home that night from work. He sputtered in disbelief as Aunt Petunia and Dudley treated Harry and Padfoot with more deference than they’d ever shown to Aunt Marge.

Aunt Petunia had actually whacked Uncle Vernon with a rolled-up newspaper when he had kicked Padfoot out of the way. Of course, Sirius popped up and performed the " _ Obliviate _ " charm almost instantly. Things were a lot more pleasant after that. Very strange, of course, but oddly pleasant. 


	4. Beeping balls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you read Chapter 3 before today, note that we added a couple of paragraphs to the end of the chapter that describes how Uncle Vernon responded to having Sirius in the house as well as the effects of Sirius's enchantment on Petunia and Dudley, and then how Uncle Vernon was put under the same enchantment.

About a week into the visit, Aunt Petunia jumped up from the dinner table in a rush after they had finished eating. Harry thought she had forgotten something on the stovetop, but then she was coming back to the table with something that rattled a bit in a box. 

“Harry, I was browsing a mail order catalog from the RNIB…” she said as she stopped near him. Harry turned toward her with his eyebrows knitted together. Padfoot shifted under Harry’s chair and made a loud whining noise like he was yawning. Uncle Vernon told Dudley to turn off the telly. Dudley groaned as he lumbered over to switch it off.

Aunt Petunia shook the box and whatever was in it rattled more. 

“Here, Harry. This is for you.” 

Harry felt uneasy as he reached forward to find the box. It seemed to be covered in wrapping paper. He still wasn’t used to this kind version of his Aunt. The box was lightweight, but larger than he expected. Aunt Petunia cleared away his plate and told him to set it on the table so he could open it. 

“This is a late birthday present, Harry,” Aunt Petunia said with anticipation in her voice. 

Harry felt around the edges and found the seams where the paper was taped. 

“Go on, just rip the paper already, Harry!” Dudley urged. 

Grinning toward his cousin, he pulled a piece of the paper off in a satisfying rip and let it fall on the floor. Aunt Petunia scooped it up immediately and crushed it. 

Harry found the flaps to the box and opened it up, then felt around the inside of the box. 

“It feels like a football?” he said. 

“Yes! It is!” Aunt Petunia said as she jumped up and grabbed the round ball from his hands. “But it's not just any ball.”

“Mum, let me show him!” Dudley clattered out of his chair and soon was thrusting the ball back into Harry’s hands. 

“See this here?” 

“Dudders!” 

“Oh, right. Sorry.  _ Feel _ this here?” Dudley corrected, making Harry cringe as he grabbed the ball, turning it in Harry’s hands. 

“You can say ‘see!’” Harry exclaimed, his hand ghosting over Dudley’s sweaty fingers as he tried to see what he was showing him. Dudley pushed Harry’s fingers to a little flap that opened, hiding a small switch.

“Sorry, Harry! I… well, here you go,” Dudley’s pudgy finger pushed at the switch and then the ball started beeping. Harry nearly dropped it in surprise. 

“Oh! It’s like my snitch!” 

“Your what?” 

“Never mind. But this is really cool! Oi! Thank you!” 

“So, you like it?” Aunt Petunia asked. 

“I love it,” Harry said with as much sincerity as surprise. “Hey, Dudley, want to go to the park and try it out?”

“Sure! But first, let me help mum with the dishes.” 

“I’ll help your mum, you boys go on out! Have fun while it’s still light out.”

There was a stunned silence around the table, and then Harry jumped up and dashed upstairs taking two steps at a time to grab Padfoot’s harness before Uncle Vernon came to his senses. Padfoot raced by him, roughly pushing against Harry’s legs halfway up the stairs, his tail whipping at his face once he had passed him.

When Harry and Padfoot clambered down the stairs again a few moments later, Dudley was waiting for him outside, the football making a loud staccato against the pavement that was out of rhythm with the beeps. 

“Hey, Harry! I’m passing it to you!” Harry had to resist the urge to duck away when he heard the leather bouncing off Dudley’s foot. But instead of a full-on assault, it sounded like Dudley had tapped it rather gently. He had time to listen to the approaching arc of the ball as it beeped toward him. Padfoot barked as Harry jumped and tried to make contact with the ball with the inside of his foot, but missed and it bounced behind Harry. 

“Ha! I’ll have to practice!”

“That was close, though! You almost had it!” Dudley ran behind Harry to retrieve it, turned off the beeping, and they set off for the park—Dudley bouncing the football and Padfoot’s harness jingling. Harry couldn’t believe the good-natured camaraderie he heard in Dudley’s voice. He winced as he reminded himself that this was magic at work and not real… but it was almost like having a brother and as much as it pained him to admit it, he was enjoying this version of Dudley. 

_ It’s what I’ve always wanted… a family, _ Harry thought.

Padfoot’s pace picked up as they neared the park and Harry found that he was practically jogging to keep up. Dudley was breathing heavily as they turned to walk on the pathway between the hedgerows that bordered the park and the neighborhood. The air was cooler here in the leafy shade of the hedges and the noises of the Little Whinging around them were muted.

They emerged into the open air of the park and Padfoot lunged forward. The squeal of the metal chains of the swings at the playground across the expanse of open grass and occasional shouts of children punctuated the cool night air.

“Hang on there, buddy!” Harry called out, laughing. He knelt down on the damp grass and started unbuckling Padfoot’s harness. 

“Why are you taking off his harness?” Dudley asked. 

“He needs to run free for a bit. Don’t worry, he’ll stay close. Won’t you?” Harry ruffled Padfoot’s ears and scratched the scruff of his neck as Padfoot licked him from chin to eyebrow, leaving a smear of smelly saliva on his face. Harry sat back to wipe it off as Padfoot launched himself away, barking joyfully as he ran. 

Harry stood up and turned toward Dudley. 

“Do you mind starting out slow? Just some easy volleys while I get the hang of listening for the ball?” 

“Yeah, sure, mate. That makes sense.” Harry heard Dudley fiddling with the ball and then the beeping started again. He dropped it to the ground and dribbled it closer to Harry. Harry listened, trying to gauge how close they were. 

“All right, mate. I’m going to pass it now,” Dudley warned. 

Harry tapped the ball with the inside of his foot and sent it back toward Dudley. 

“Nice one!” Dudley said as he kicked the ball lightly with his foot. “Coming back to you.”

Harry tried dribbling it for a bit, running forward and kicking the ball in front of him. He wasn’t sure where Dudley was. He was able to track the ball. It was very much like his snitch, though easier to follow because it stayed on the ground, mostly.

“Hey, Dudley?” 

“Over here, mate.” Dudley was farther to the left than Harry expected and he adjusted his stance, then kicked the ball toward Dudley and heard his cousin connect with it. 

“I guess we need to put a bell on you, too!” Harry laughed. 

Padfoot came running by close enough that he pushed against Harry almost knocking him down. 

“Hey, watch it, Padfoot!”

“You talk to that dog like he understands you!” Dudley guffawed. 

The ball was beeping as Dudley dribbled it, then there was a pause, and then it started hurling toward Harry. Harry stopped and listened, and jumped up with his knee in the air, trying to connect with the ball, but missed and fell onto the grass. Padfoot pounced on him, pushing his wet nose into Harry’s neck and licking his ear.

“Oh, he understands all right.” Harry pushed Padfoot away as he sat up and reached for the beeping ball, tossing it toward Dudley.

Harry shivered… a sudden biting wind made the sheen of sweat turn icy on his back and arms… it was like a bank of clouds had rushed in. Padfoot growled. 

Harry noticed the eerie quiet from the playground as well… he could hear the swing creaking, but he couldn’t hear any children laughing and shouting anymore. He was pretty certain that they were the only ones at the park. 

“Geez, how is it so cold and dark all of the sudden?” Dudley said with a shudder, coming over to where Harry was with the beeping ball. “Is there a storm coming in?”

“Kinda feels like it. Does it look like it is going to rain?”

“I dunno. The sun disappeared and … it’s freezing. Ahh. It is so dark. I can hardly see anything.”

Padfoot leaned against Harry’s leg and whined. 

“What is it, Padfoot?”

“Like he’s going to answer!” Dudley exclaimed as he stumbled. “It’s pitch black out here. I can’t see a thing. How do you manage? Gah!” 

“Padfoot, fetch the harness!” Harry commanded, pointing in the general direction of where they had set it down when they entered the park. The hair on his neck was standing on end. 

_ Something is wrong. Very wrong,  _ Harry thought.

Padfoot raced over to it and soon the jangling harness was in Harry’s hands and he was hurriedly passing it over the shivering dog’s head and fastening it around his middle.

“Let’s get out of here, Dudley. Home! Padfoot!” Padfoot lurched forward and Harry trotted after him, but Dudley didn’t seem to be following. Harry pulled on Padfoot’s harness. 

“Come on, Dudley! We’ve got to go home. Something isn’t right here. Dudley?”

Padfoot had stopped and then started barking. Harry pulled his wand out of the mokeskin pouch and pointed it in the direction that Padfoot was barking. In between Padfoot’s barks, he could hear the rasping, rattling breath and then he caught a whiff of smell: something putrid on the air and suddenly he knew what was going on. 

_ Dementors! How could there be Dementors in Little Whinging? _

He felt Padfoot shake through the harness. “Padfoot! You gotta… you can’t transform! Please. I need you to guide me. It’s too dangerous. The Dementors… you know what they do to you. Where’s Dudley? Take me to Dudley.” 

Padfoot whined and walked forward until Harry’s outstretched wand poked his cousin. 

“Dudley! We’ve got to go! Come on!” Harry shouted, linking his wand arm through Dudleys and pulling him along while he clung to Padfoot’s harness. Dudley stumbled and then fell into step with Harry and they half-ran, half hobbled toward the hedgerows that would take them back to Privet Drive. 

Dudley got caught up on the branches of the hedgerow as they passed through. The Dementor’s rank odor engulfed them. Harry turned toward it and pushed Dudley behind him, freeing his wand arm. He pointed the wand toward the advancing misery, feeling its pull. Padfoot was barking frantically. There was a strange clanking noise coming from the other end of the hedgerows… like tin cans and footsteps. 

_ Think happy thoughts, happy thoughts!  _ Harry urged himself.

Harry frantically grasped the nearest memory… that of playing football with his cousin while Padfoot raced around the field. 

“ _ Expecto patronum! _ ” He felt the force of the spell as it erupted from his wand and then heard the hooves of Prongs and his huffing snorts as he chased after the Dementors. 

“Go get them!” He knew there was more than one because of their rattling breath… they had been surrounded. 

The footsteps and clanking metal he’d heard earlier ran near him and an icy hand grasped his wrist and pulled him, “Run!” He didn’t have a moment to wonder who else was in the hedgerow with them. 

Harry pulled on Dudley as Padfoot lurched through the hedgerow. Harry put his arm around Dudley’s waist to help him as Dudley’s legs were buckling. The other person was now pulling on Dudley’s arm, too. When they cleared the hedgerow, they got under Dudley’s other arm and the four of them hurried along the pavement as quickly as they could. 

Harry made to tuck his wand back into his mokeskin bag at his waist.

“Don’t put that away, boy!” He realized that it was Mrs. Figg. 

“What? Wait? You’re a witch?!”

“Squib. I can’t help you a wit with them. So you keep that out. I’ll tell you if they are coming back. Why didn’t that mutt of yours transform?”

“What? I’m glad he didn’t!”

“Why on earth? How else can he protect you?”

“The Dementors are worse for him! We’d be hauling both of them out of here. As a dog, he can withstand them. He knows that.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you can do that deer magic!”

“The Patronus,” Harry corrected unconsciously. 

The night air was no longer piercingly cold as he drew it into his lungs and Harry could hear the birds and insects humming their nighttime chorus again. He had a stitch in his side and he was pretty sure that a muscle in his shoulder had been pulled from hanging on to Padfoot’s harness while he lunged forward… but he was thankful for their hurried pace back to Number 4 Privet Drive. The protection of the blood wards never sounded so welcome. 

And Harry was really worried about Dudley who seemed barely able to stay on his feet and hadn’t muttered a word since the encounter with the Dementors. 

_ Worried about Dudley. That’s new,  _ thought Harry.  _ Gah! They didn’t kiss him, did they? _


	5. Baking Chocolate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: You’ll recognize the letters quoted below from Chapter 2: A Peck of Owls, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.  
> [break]

Fear scrabbled at Harry’s insides, but he shoved it away. Finally, Padfoot was tugging him to turn left and beneath his trainers he felt the familiar garden pathway to the front door. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Mrs. Figg said as she disentangled herself from under Dudley’s arm, her grocery sack of tin cans clanged discordantly against the garden gate. 

“What? Wait. Where are you going?”

“I have to notify Dumbledore!” Her footsteps were already crunching on the pavement.

“What’s Dumbledore got to do with this?” Harry’s voice cracked as he called after her.

“The Order, boy! He needs to know.” Her voice trailed away as she scurried down the street.

“Oh, the Order,” Harry muttered under his breath as he tried to steer Dudley toward the door.

Harry didn’t bother with knocking, he just touched his wand to the door and murmured, “ _ Alohomora, _ ” then nudged the door open with his foot and the three of them tumbled into the entryway. 

“What’s going on?” Uncle Vernon shouted from the kitchen and Aunt Petunia’s footsteps clattered down the hallway toward them as she cried, “Dudders? Harry? Padfoot? Are you all right?”

She tugged Dudley out of Harry’s arm and led him toward the sitting room where he settled heavily on the sofa. Harry and Padfoot trailed behind them, buffeted out of the way by Uncle Vernon’s bulk as he hurried past them, thrusting a wet rag into Harry’s hands. 

_ He really did help with the dishes!  _ Harry thought as he stuffed his wand into his mokeskin pouch. 

“What happened to Dudley? Why is he so pale?”

“Dementors… there were Dementors at the park,” Harry said, wiping the sweat from his brow with the wet dish towel. Beside him, Padfoot shook his harness, pulling it out of Harry’s hand and then he heard the familiar pop as he transformed into Sirius. Both Petunia and Vernon shrieked. Sirius fumbled in his leather jacket for his wand and cast a silencing charm on them. 

“Sirius, you can’t just go around doing that!” 

“Listen, Harry. This is bad. Someone knew you’d be at the park… this is just what Dumbledore has been afraid of… why he has the Order trailing you… even when I’m with you!”

“I know!” Harry shouted as Aunt Petunia’s hands held onto his forearm in a near death grip. “But still, let them talk. This is their son. They are worried about him and now you’ve gone and transformed in front of them again!”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Sirius did sound abashed as he canceled the silencing charm and then took a moment to explain to them about who he was and why he was there.

“But what’s happened to Dudley? Did you do this?”

“He needs chocolate!” Harry remembered suddenly and pivoted and careened down the hall to the kitchen, where he threw the dish towel on the counter, yanked open the cupboard door, and rummaged around until he found rectangular foil-wrapped packages. He tore one open and smelled it. 

_ Bitter! Baking chocolate… it will have to do _ , he thought as he raced back to the sitting room. 

Aunt Petunia caught his arm and helped him find the seat by Dudley. 

“Here, Dudley. Eat this. This will help.”

“How’s chocolate going to bloody help?” Uncle Vernon demanded. Sirius tried to explain, but both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were pelting him with questions faster than he could answer. Harry wished they’d help him get Dudley to eat the chocolate, but the three of them were more invested in the shouting match.

Dudley seemed completely unresponsive next to him. Dudley’s labored breathing rumbled against Harry as he was slumped against him in a clammy boneless mass.

Harry fumbled around trying to find Dudley’s hand and tried to get him to hold the chocolate, but Dudley’s hand was limp and damp and flopped back into his lap. 

Harry broke off a piece of the chocolate and ran his fingers up Dudley’s arm, across his shoulder, and then guessed on the location of Dudley’s mouth. He was off by a bit and he pressed the piece of chocolate into Dudley’s cheek. He tried again, his fingers grazing across Dudley’s rough stubble on his chin until he found his mouth and pressed the chocolate against his lips. 

_ Huh, I didn’t know that Dudley was shaving already, _ Harry thought as Dudley’s mouth opened and he accepted the bit of chocolate. Harry broke off another piece and fed it to Dudley who numbly accepted it, chewing and swallowing. 

After a little bit, Dudley sputtered, “What was that!?” He spat and gagged, sick splattering on the carpet. 

“Diddy! You’re okay!” Aunt Petunia’s elation changed to dismay. “Oh no! That’s going to stain the carpet!” 

She ran out of the room. 

“What did you give him? Why is he speaking Welsh?”

“It was just chocolate!” Harry shouted, cringing as he braced for a blow from Uncle Vernon. He straightened up slowly when he realized that one wasn’t coming.

Aunt Petunia came back in with a bucket sloshing water that gave off a highly chemical stench and began scrubbing the carpet by Dudley’s feet. 

Harry went back to the kitchen to fetch Dudley a glass of water and escape the fumes. As he was filling a glass at the sink, he heard the unmistakable hoot of an owl as it swept through the kitchen window; it’s wings batted against his forehead and claws scritched on the kitchen table as it skidded across.

Harry turned slowly toward the bird, forgetting the running water behind him. Still clutching the glass in his hand, he walked toward the growling owl, finding the table with his knuckles. He set down the glass and reached toward the owl, who hopped closer to him. 

Harry found the scroll attached to his leg and unfurled it. He ran his fingers over the surface, skeptical that he’d find braille; he was not disappointed. His fingertips only encountered the swollen marks of parchment imbued with ink. It was tacky… as if the drying charm had not been allowed enough time to fully dry it. 

Harry pulled out his wand and performed the translation charm on the parchment. He waited for the little pop of magic that let him know it had worked, but didn’t hear it. He felt the parchment. No braille. He tried again and still it didn’t work. 

“What’s that?” Sirius asked from the doorway.

Harry tossed the scroll onto the tabletop while the owl took flight through the window. He walked back to the sink to turn off the water. 

“No idea. It’s got some sort of block on it. My translation charm doesn’t work.”

Sirius crossed to the table and unrolled the scroll, then let out a string of curses fit for a sailor or an Azkaban prisoner. 

“Oi! What is it?” Harry’s throat started closing as the expletives grew more creative.

“The cack-handed Ministry of bloody fecking Magic has expelled you from Hogwarts and summoned you to a disciplinary hearing! Trolls’ bloody bollocks! This is bad. They are on their way to snap your wand!”

“What!?” Harry shouted. “What do you mean? You’re joking, right? This can’t be happening!” 

He strode to Sirius’s side, found his elbows, followed his arm to his hands to snatch the parchment from Sirius, then spread it flat on the table running his fingers over it. His frustration at not being able to read it for himself boiling over. 

“Read it to me,” he seethed.

“I just told you,” Sirius was pacing back and forth across the kitchen. 

“Read it to me! Please. I have to hear it. I need to know exactly what it says.” 

“What’s going on? Why all the shouting?” Uncle Vernon burst into the kitchen. 

“Oi! Come on, Sirius. Tell. Me. What. It. Says.”

“Harry’s received a notice from the Ministry of Magic,” Sirius said, though his words were distorted as if he were holding his hands over his mouth. 

Uncle Vernon thundered over to Harry and pulled the parchment from under his hands. 

“‘Dear Mr. Potter, We’ve received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm’… What the bloody heck is a Patronus charm?” Uncle Vernon demanded. 

“It’s the magic I used to drive off the Dementors.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, right? You saved Dudley.” 

“Go on. Keep reading it,” Sirius said from across the room.

“… ‘at twenty-three minutes past eight this evening’… They have spies?! What kind of surveillance equipment are they using? How could they know this? This is illegal! What right do they have?”

“This is the Ministry of Magic we’re talking about… they can do whatever they like,” Sirius grumbled. 

“What else does it say?”

“… ‘in a Muggle-inhabited area and in the presence of a Muggle’… what’s a bloody muggle?”

“Muggles are non-magical people… Dudley, you, Aunt Petunia… so why didn’t they start sending letters when Sirius… er…” Harry trailed off, realizing what he was about to say. 

“What? When Sirius what?” Uncle Vernon asked.

“Er, when he … er… transformed?” Harry winced as he said it, expecting Uncle Vernon to lash out. 

“Well, it says here that… ‘The severity of this breach of the Decree of the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.’ So that means it is because you’re underage, right?”

“How do they know it was me?”

“I don’t think they can know that… just that you’re in the area. I mean, children of witches and wizards are constantly casting spells at their homes and they don’t get messages. I should know. That’s the way it was when I was growing up. Merlin’s beard, my parents were teaching us spells and telling us to use them against each other when we were still in nappies!” 

“What else does it say?” Harry urged. 

“‘Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand.’ Well, not if I bloody well say that they can’t come in here! You saved Dudley’s life! As well as your own and your dog!”

“Hey!” Sirius protested. 

“Er, pardon me, Mr. Black. I didn’t mean to offend you.” 

Harry couldn’t help it. He burst into laughter. The whole thing was beyond ridiculous and now Uncle Vernon, of all people, was apologizing to Sirius. He doubled over and tears squeezed out of his eyes as his laughter wracked his body. 

It was the shock of feeling Uncle Vernon’s pudgy hand on his shoulder that brought him back. Harry flinched as his natural instinct was to move out his Uncle’s path. It was the first time Uncle Vernon had ever touched him gently. 

“Son, you okay?”

Harry sucked in a sudden breath as the thought registered:  _ Did Uncle Vernon just call me  _ son? 

He rubbed the tears off his face and took in a shaking breath. 

“Yeah. I’m okay. Is there more? More to the letter?” 

Uncle Vernon shook the parchment and read the last bit: “As you’ve already received an official warning for a previous offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on August 12th. I hope you are well. Yours sincerely, Mafalda Hopkirk, Improper Use of Magic Office, Ministry of Magic.”

“What’s this about a previous offense?” Sirius asked.

“That was when Dobby (the house elf) dropped Aunt Petunia’s pudding in the kitchen. It was a few summers ago.”

“There was a house-elf here? What’s a sodding house-elf?” Uncle Vernon sat down heavily on a chair. 

“Never mind that. What does it mean that Ministry Officials are going to destroy my wand? They can’t do that, can they?” Harry demanded. 

“What, condemn you without a trial?” Sirius’s sardonic reply hung heavily in the air, despite the gentle summer breeze wafting in the open window. 

“Then, let’s go!” Harry said, standing up straight. 

Just then another owl swept into the kitchen, crashing onto the table, and making Uncle Vernon squawk in surprise. 

Sirius jumped over and was unfurling the scroll. Arthur Weasley’s voice spoke aloud to the room:

“Harry, Dumbledore’s arrived at the Ministry and he’s trying to sort it all out. Do not leave your Aunt and Uncle’s house. Do not do any more magic. Do not surrender your wand!”

Harry found a chair at the table and sank into it. He slumped back and breathed out a large sigh. He tucked his wand back into his mokeskin, knowing that only he could remove it if the ministry officials arrived. 

Sirius squeezed his shoulder. 

“Who was that?” Aunt Petunia had entered the kitchen. “I thought I heard a strange man’s voice. Er, why is there an owl on the kitchen table?”

“It brought a ruddy speaking letter,” Uncle Vernon explained. 

“Oh, why?”

“Some business with the… what’s it? Ministry of …?”

“Magic,” Harry said, bracing for both of them to protest. But they didn’t. 

Dudley’s heavy steps echoed in the hall. 

“Did someone come over?”

“Just a talking letter, dear,” Aunt Petunia explained. “Can someone do something about the owl? It’s shedding feathers all over the table cloth.”

“Sure, do you have a quill? I want to write back to Arthur,” Sirius asked.

“A quill?”

“A pen or pencil will do,” Harry explained and went over to the drawer by the telephone to root around until he found a pencil and held it out to Sirius.

“Ah, yes. Lily used to use these,” Sirius said as he scratched a note and fastened the scroll back on the owl’s leg. He walked it over to the window and there was a great flapping of wings as it took off. 

“What did the Ministry want then?” Aunt Petunia asked.

“They are expelling Harry from that school and sending someone to break his wand!” Uncle Vernon explained.

“What? They can’t do that, can they?” Aunt Petunia exclaimed.

“Why would they do that?” Dudley sounded confused.

“‘Cause I did magic in front of you.”

“But I’d be dead if you hadn’t. Those things… they were… sucking my life… ” Aunt Petunia was fussing over Dudley, making small cooing noises and rubbing his back.

“They were after your soul, not your life.”

Dudley clamped his hands over his mouth with a moan. 

“Professor Dumbledore is trying to sort it out. It’ll be okay.”

Another owl flew into the room through the window. 

“Someone shut that bloody window before we’re overrun with the bloody birds!” Uncle Vernon exclaimed, sounding more like himself than he had for a week.

“What does this one say?” Harry asked as his heart kept rattling against his adam’s apple.

“It says that they aren’t going to destroy your wand, and the decision about expelling you will be made after the August 12th disiciplinary hearing… but for now you’re suspended from the school. I guess Dumbledore was able to persuade them to see some reason,” Sirius said.

“August 12th… that’s only a couple days away,” Harry said.

“Yeah. Now that Dumbledore’s had a word with the Ministry, I think we can go back to Grimmauld Place and prepare for the hearing there… but we’d better go in the morning… take the train, not use magic to travel. I’m going to send Remus and O’Carolan a note. Let them know what is happening,” Sirius said as he sped out of the room and his footsteps thundered up the stairs. 

“You’ll let us know what happens at the hearing, though,” Aunt Petunia said. She walked over to Harry and pulled him into a bony hug. “Thank you. Thank you for what you did for Dudley.”

Again, Harry flinched and had to resist the urge to jump away from his Aunt.

[break]

Harry lay curled on his side in his nest of covers listening to the early morning noises of Number 12 Grimmauld place. He pressed the button on his talking alarm again. 3:33 am. Three minutes had passed since he’d last checked. Still too early to get up and start getting ready. 

He shivered and nestled down further into the down coverlet and pillow as his mind threaded through the coaching Sirius and Professor O’Carolan had been taking him through the last couple of days in preparation for today's hearing. Remus was recovering from his moon time. Sirius chafed at Dumbledore’s insistence that he couldn’t accompany Harry as a witness because the tide of favor that he’d once enjoyed seemed to be turning against him and Dumbledore thought they’d risk too much if the once convicted (though pardoned) murderer was seen with Harry. All of Dumbledore’s advice had come to Harry second hand… he was apparently too busy to talk directly to Harry. Harry squirmed in discomfort at the memory, trying to get away from it. 

At long last, he threw off his covers, shivering as Grimmauld Place’s draughts penetrated his pajamas. He padded out into the hallway, knuckles trailing on the wall until he encountered the framed doorway to the loo. The icy tile under his feet shocked the haze of sleep from his system and he realized that he wasn’t going to be able to go back to sleep. He decided to just give in and start getting ready for the day, even though he felt nauseous from lack of sleep and anxiety about the proceedings. 

[break]

Running his fingers through his damp hair, Harry paced along the bench in the kitchen in stocking feet waiting for the rest of the house to wake up. As he sat down, his hand grazed against the cold cup of tea he had made nearly an hour ago, practically upending it and making it rattle in the saucer. Kreacher growled in protest from his nest in the corner of the kitchen. 

Above his head, the floorboards creaked. Sirius was finally up. Harry sighed and rocked back on the bench. It felt like the slowest day of his existence… and really, the day hadn’t even begun yet. 

[break]

Now, after an eternity of waiting, Harry was trotting alongside Arthur Weasley whose ragged breath betrayed his anxiety. The metal badge the telephone had dispensed rattled on his chest. It announced that he, Harry Potter, was at the Ministry for a Disciplinary Hearing. The words were carved into the metal surface, so even Harry could trace the letters and almost make out the words. He wanted to press his hand against it (or more like, tear it off) to keep it from chattering at him, but it was all he could do to hang onto Mr. Weasley’s arm with one hand and his cane with the other. His pocket felt oddly empty without his wand which he’d had to leave in the reception area with some dodgy Ministry official with oniony breath and sweaty hands.

His heart had not stopped its ungainly gallop since Mr. Weasley’s frantic greeting when he arrived at the Ministry. He had arrived thinking that he had plenty of time before the hearing started. 

But no, the hearing time had been changed to 8 am. It had already started. And not only that it was before the entire Wizengamot in Courtroom ten. 

_ Whatever that means!  _ Harry thought. But Arthur had delivered the news as if he was telling Harry a close friend had died.

They had scurried down a musty corridor and then squeezed through a doorway that led to a hollow sounding and narrow staircase. Harry slipped down the steep steps behind Mr. Weasley as he tried to keep from tumbling down them all together. His cane was slippery in his grip and he didn’t have a free hand to wipe the sweat dripping into his eyes and down his neck.

Harry stumbled when the stairs ended abruptly under his feet, expecting another stair but finding solid stone instead and Mr. Weasley wrenched open a door muttering apologies and pulling Harry through to another cold and dusty corridor where their footsteps bounced off the walls. 

Panting, Mr. Weasley stopped, turned and pulled open a door through which muttering voices spilled out but were suddenly eclipsed as the door opened wide enough for Mr. Weasley to push Harry through.

“Wait, aren’t you coming with me?” Harry turned his face to Mr. Weasley, whispering frantically. 

“I’m not allowed. Just tell the truth. You’ll be fine.”

Mr. Weasley gave him a pat on the back that turned to a gentle shove and the door closed behind Harry with a reverberating clang.


	6. The Hearing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors' note: You’ll recognize some of the dialogue below that was lifted directly from Chapter 8: The Hearing, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.
> 
> [Break]

He stood listening to the room, keenly aware from the slight shufflings and shiftings that it was full of people all looking at him and they were arranged in a rising auditorium that surrounded him on all sides. He could hear something that sounded like metal chains clinking together in a breeze from a platform to his left. But the air was heavy and still. 

He resisted the urge to run a hand through his hair or straighten his robes and held his cane in front of him like a staff. 

“You’re late!” a cold male voice rang through the hall. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry stammered. “I didn’t know the time had changed.”

“That is not the Wizengamot’s fault. An owl was sent to you this morning. Take a seat.”

Harry stood for a moment then lifted his cane as a reminder. “Excuse me, sir, but where is the seat?”

“That one. Now take it.”

Harry pointed up toward the sounds of chains, “That one?”

“Yes, stop delaying.” 

Harry turned toward the sound of the chair and swept his cane in front of him. His neck grew hot as he encountered a wall and followed it until he found protruding steps. Mutterings broke out and he heard words that made him grind his teeth. “ _Can’t see! Blind!”_

He navigated to the front of them and climbed them to the top of the platform. The platform was enormous and empty, but the rustling chains helped him locate the chair and he settled into it. He half expected the chains to wrap themselves around him as he sat, but they just shook a bit more then resumed their gentle clanking as if they didn’t want him to forget that they were there. 

Harry took his time folding his cane and held it across his knees. He sat up straight and pointed his nose in the direction the voice had come from, expectantly. 

“Very well. The accused being present—finally—let us begin. Are you ready?”

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but then an eager voice answered, “Yes, sir!” The voice was so familiar, but it took a moment for Harry to place it. Could it be Percy Weasely who sounded oddly gleeful? He’d heard him utter that phrase enough as Gryffindor’s prefect and then Head Boy. Betrayal stabbed through Harry’s gut as he turned toward Percy’s voice. 

He wondered who else he knew in this room. Was Professor Dumbledore even here?

“Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August,” the unctuous voice stated authoritatively. A quill scratched across parchment as Cornelius Oswald Fudge identified himself (as Minister of Magic) and as he named the others sitting in judgment of Harry… Someone Bones of part of Magical Law Enforcement and someone Umbridge, who was some sort of Undersecretary, Harry realized that he had stopped breathing. The Minister of Magic was running this trial. 

Surely, this wasn’t normal procedure? It would be like the Prime Minister leading a case on Youth Court. As he sucked in a breath and gripped his cane tightly in his daze of disbelief, Harry was surprised to learn that Percy’s middle name was Ignatius. 

Then Harry jumped as a quiet voice behind him and below the platform, reverberated around the amphitheater, “Witness for the defense, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.” His fingers relaxed on his cane as Professor Dumbledore’s quiet footsteps padded up the stairs. 

“Ah, Dumbledore. Er… You… er… I see you got our message…?” Minister Fudge’s confidence seemed to have shriveled up. 

“No, I didn’t. Fortunately, I was already at the Ministry on other business when I heard that the time and place had inexplicably changed and I came straight away.”

“Er, yes. You’ll be needing a chair… Weas…”

“No need to fuss,” There was a pop of magic and the sound of wooden legs of a chair settling onto the stone floor beside Harry. Dumbledore’s robes rustled crisply as he sank into it and an expectant silence grew as murmurings quieted throughout the chamber.

“Yes,” Fudge said, moving papers around. “Yes, so the charges.” A quill scratched against parchment from Percy’s location.

The Minister sucked in a deep breath and read the charges… that the accused did knowingly and willingly produce a Patronus in a muggle-inhabited area in full view of a muggle, despite receiving previous warning from the Ministry in a similar situation years earlier. And that these offenses violated the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery as well as the International Confederation of Wizard’s Statute of Secrecy.

“You are Harry James Potter, of Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?” the Minister questioned. 

“Er, yes, but…” Harry said, wanting to add that his real address was Grimmauld Place.

“You received an official warning from the Ministry three years ago, did you not?” 

“Yes, but…” 

“And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night in question, in front of muggles?”

“Yes, but…” 

“Knowing that you’re not permitted to use magic outside of school while you are under the age of seventeen?”

“Yes, but…”

“Knowing that there were muggles present?”

“Yes, but…”

“Fully aware that there was a muggle in close proximity?”

“Yes!” Harry spat, “ but I only used it because we were…”

An ancient booming voice cut him off from high above and across the courtroom, “You produced a fully-fledged Patronus?”

“Yes,” said Harry, turning his head in her direction, “because…”

“A corporeal Patronus?” she asked again.

“A what?” Harry’s brows knitted together.

“Your Patronus. It is clearly defined? I mean to say that it is more than vapor or smoke?”

“Yes, it is a stag. I can hear the hooves and it snorts,” Harry explained. “Everyone says it is a stag.”

“You’ve produced it before? Others have seen it?”

“Yes, I’ve been doing it for over a year…” 

“And you’re fifteen-years-old… and blind? Who taught you? How?”

“Yes, Professor Lupin taught me… in my third year. Because of the…”

“Impressive. At your age and without the ability to visualize…”

“I can visualize!” Harry stated, affronted. “I just can’t see!”

Muttering rose again throughout the chamber. 

“It’s not a question of how impressive the magic is,” the Minister fumed. “In fact, the more impressive the worse it is! And in front of a muggle, no less!”

There were murmurings in agreement that pushed Harry over the edge, and he shouted before anyone could interrupt him again, “I did it because of the dementors!” 

The silence that erupted filled the room with expectation. Harry felt needled by all the eyes that had to be fixed on him. 

“Dementors?” The gravelly voice of the woman who’d been grilling him on his Patronus asked. “What do you mean, boy?”

“There were dementors… two I think… and they were after me and my cousin. Chased us.”

“Ah, and here we go! I’m not surprised that you’ve brought us here,” the Minister said with an odd laughter in his voice as if it were the funniest joke he’d heard. Harry cocked his head, trying to understand.

“Dementors in Little Whinging?” The stern voice of the woman shook with incredulity. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you, Madam Bones?” the Minister asked. “Let me, explain. He’s been thinking it through and decided dementors would make a very nice cover story, very nice indeed. Muggles can’t see dementors, can they? Boy?”

“Er, I don’t know, Minister, but they can feel them, hear them, and smell them just as I can,” Harry said.

“Ah ha! That’s right! You can’t see them either! How could you possibly know they were dementors?” The Minister pounced on this revelation like Crookshanks on a Cornish pixie.

“I’m not lying! There were at least two dementors. Maybe more! They surrounded us from opposite ends of the hedgerow, my cousin said that it got dark really suddenly and it was cold, freezing!”

“Maybe more?! Can you believe this? He doesn’t know! He couldn’t see the dementors.”

“We do, in fact, have another witness to the presence of dementors.” Dumbledore’s cool voice cut through the Minister’s bluster and left him spluttering.

“We haven’t time for this…”

Dumbledore quoted the Wizengamot Charter of Rights so affably it sounded like he was reading a recipe for lemon cream tarts and there were several murmurs of agreement from the towering seats. “Is that not right, Madam Bones?”

“That is true, absolutely true,” Madam Bones agreed.

“Oh, very well!” Fudge snapped and Harry imagined that his face was turning purple with the amount of fury his words contained. Someone stepped down the stairs in the galley and the heavy door opened slowly. 

Harry strained his ears trying to determine who it could be. 

_Dumbledore was so insistent that Sirius couldn’t come and even if it was Sirius, he would have come with me this morning, right? So who could it be?_ Harry wondered. _Who else was at the park that night?_

The footsteps that approached were clipped and confident. And familiar. Harry was trying to place them. He’d heard them before. The murmurings around the court quieted. Harry realized he wasn’t breathing and took a small sip of air. 

The person jogged up the steps to the platform where Harry and Dumbledore were seated, robes swishing around their legs, and there was the familiar popping noise of magic and the feet of another chair settled on the platform on Dumbledore’s other side. 

Harry breathed in, trying to catch the scent of the person who settled into the chair. This was someone he knew… but he still couldn’t place them. His fingers were forming the word “who” subconsciously as his brows knit together, and then Professor Dumbledore’s voice erupted next to him. 

“I call Feliss Eliot, Auror in the Special Forces Unit, as a witness for the defense!”

Harry’s head shot up in surprise and he let out the breath that he didn’t realize he was holding. _Auror Eliot was there that night?_ He thought in wonder.

From the murmurings that rustled through the chamber, Harry wasn’t the only one who was surprised by this news. Someone near Minister Fudge made an impatient noise, “Hem, hem!” as if to quiet the crowd. It sent shivers from the nape of his neck to the base of his spine. 

“Yes, yes! Get on with it!” Minister Fudge stated impatiently while shuffling parchment. “I haven’t got all day!”

“Yes, Minister,” Auror Eliot said in his smooth voice as if he was appeasing a doting grandparent, rather than offering evidence in front of a full court of the Wizengamot. “On the evening of August the ninth at precisely a quarter past eight, I received a rather frantic summons from Mrs. Arabella Figg, requesting my immediate presence at the Park in Little Whinging, Surrey. As I was in the middle of a sensitive operation as part of my duties in the Special Forces, I was not able to respond immediately, least I jeopardize the mission I was on. After several minutes, I was able to extract myself and apparate to the location mentioned previously. Upon arrival, it was obvious that Mrs. Figg’s alarm was warranted as there was clearly a dementor presence in the park.”

At this, the room erupted in a confusion of outbursts and chatter. Minister Fudge pounded on his gavel until the room quieted again. 

“What do you mean by ‘clearly a dementor presence?’” Minister Fudge questioned. 

“Not only could I see three distinct dementor shapes, but I could feel their characteristic cold, the sky was obscured with their miasma, and their stench filled my nostrils. But at that moment, as I raced toward them with my wand drawn, a brilliant stag Patronus burst forth and drove them off one at a time, as directed by Harry Potter. Had he not done it, I surely would have. But it was better that he had, because it was clear that his companion had nearly been kissed. I would have arrived too late to prevent the kiss. I followed them as they made their way through the park… Mr. Potter, the large boy—who I learned later was his cousin, Dudley Dursley, and Harry’s neighbor, Mrs. Arabella Figg. Once they were safely hidden by the formidable wards at Number 4 Privet Drive, I returned to the park to hunt down the dementors. As they had disappeared, I returned to my mission. Harry and his cousin did not know that I had witnessed the attack as well as Mr. Potter’s use of the Patronus that saved them all from a most unpleasant encounter.”

“Why on earth would a muggle neighbor of Harry’s summon you? And how?” Minister Fudge seemed to be blustering now, grasping at straws and Harry let a small flame of hope light in his gut. 

“Mrs. Figg is not a muggle. She contacted me using a handheld scrying mirror that she inherited from her mother. I have the companion mirror because she is my great-aunt.” 

“What!? We’re not aware of a witch living in Little Whinging! Harry Potter is the only known wizard in the area! And the situation is carefully monitored given his history!” Madam Bones interrupted. 

“Ah, well, though my Aunt is from a magical family, she does not have magic herself,” Auror Eliot explained. 

“A Squib? Well, this is preposterous! Are we expected to believe that a Squib had the where-with-all to summon an Auror? A Special Forces Auror at that?” Minister Fudge had clearly risen out of his seat and his voice was projecting around the room. 

“A Squib’s word in court is admissible evidence, Minister. Or do I need to remind you of section seven of…” Professor Dumbledore was cut off. 

“I am well aware of the articles you mention, so, no, you do not! And as the Squib in question is not present…”

“I am happy to call Mrs. Figg as a witness as well,” Professor Dumbledore offered blithely.

“That is not necessary!” Minister Fudge sputtered. 

“My question for you, Auror Eliot, maybe more to the point. Why did you allow this matter to evolve into a full trial before the Wizengamot?” Madam Bones interjected.

“Ah, yes. Well, I did bring my observations to the attention of the Minister’s office when I heard that charges were being pressed against Mr. Potter rather than investigating why there were dementors on the loose,” Auror Eliot said.

“What? There is no such thing on record!” Minister Fudge announced. 

“I suspected as much when I learned that the trial was still scheduled. So I took the liberty of bringing not only my memory of submitting my observations to Senior Undersecretary Umbridge, but also those of the night in question,” Auror Eliot said while rummaging in his cloak for some clinking glass bottles that he set on a table that Harry didn’t know was at the front of the stage. 

“Very well, bring forth the Court Pensieve,” Minister Fudge said in a resigned voice. 

“Yes, Minister!” Percy Weasley seemed to trip in his haste to fetch the object.

“No! No. That will not be necessary,” came a treacly female voice that Harry had not heard before. This woman sounded cornered and defensive, and Harry wondered if she would strike like a badger or a snake. She did neither. 

“Auror Eliot did indeed come to me with his tale but as I was out all the rest of the day on… Ahem… Ministry business, I was not able to pass the information along.” She did not sound the least bit apologetic. Percy’s quill began to scratch frantically as she spoke. 

“And this Ministry Business?” asked Dumbledore with a hint of frost in his tone. 

“Why, Professor Dumbledore,” her words held an insincere sweetness that surprised Harry. “I was actually doing you a favor!”

“How is that?” Dumbledore’s voice was bland, but Harry caught the very slightest undercurrent of tension in it. 

“I was interviewing the additional staff you’ll need for the upcoming school year,” she said sweetly. “Amycus and Alecto Carrow will make a well-qualified addition to the Hogwarts roster, will they not? And they have so very graciously agreed to take a year’s leave from Durmstrang to join us.”

There was a little murmur that ran around the room. Harry felt a shock of surprise that Dumbledore wasn’t allowed to hire staff himself, and apparently he wasn’t the only one. Feliss Eliot shifted uneasily in his chair.

Harry expected an angry or surprised retort from Dumbledore but he merely replied evenly, “Ahh, thank you for explaining, Madame Undersecretary.”

Harry wondered why he wasn’t protesting, but his attention was diverted by Feliss Eliot rising. 

“If the Wizengamot will forgive me,” he said, “I have a pressing mission which is not yet complete. If my testimony is finished, I ask leave to depart.”

“Of course, of course,” replied Minister Fudge, who had obviously lost control of the proceedings entirely.

Auror Eliot retrieved his clinking bottles of memories. A hand was laid quickly and gently on Harry’s shoulder, and with a swish of robes, Feliss had vanished. Harry found a slight shiver running up his spine as he left, even though Dumbledore still sat near him on the dais. 

[break]

“So what happened after that?” asked Homer O’Carolan later that night, sitting with Harry and Remus in the basement kitchen at Grimmauld Place, each with mugs of tea in front of him on the old wooden table. 

“Dumbledore talked some more,” said Harry, struggling to remember. He’d felt so panicky at the time that the details were difficult to recall. “He cited some rule or other that had to do with restrictions on the use of Underage Sorcery, and since there _were_ actually three dementors...”

“I wonder how they did happen to be there,” said Remus thoughtfully. 

“That does seem a bit odd,” agreed O’Carolan. “But go on, Harry. Did they give a verdict?”

“Oh Minister Fudge just seemed to want to get things over and done,” continued Harry. “He called for a vote and there were enough votes in my favor that the charges were dismissed. I’m not sure exactly who voted against me...”

“They ought to have spoken their votes aloud,” growled O’Carolan. “Under Magical Access law 504 a blind Wizard has a right to the same information in a court of law or disciplinary hearing.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Harry wonderingly.

“What’s this about the Carrows being at Hogwarts?” asked Remus. 

“Madame Umbridge...” began Harry, but Remus interrupted him again. 

“That woman!” he snorted. “Helped with my removal!

Harry knew that Remus still felt sore about getting sacked after the werewolf attacks, so he took a long, slow drink of tea rather than replying. 

“You worked with the Carrows,” stated Remus to O’Carolan. 

“I did,” agreed the elderly man. “Slippery as wet soap, those two. Death Eaters, the both of them.”

“What classes will they take?” asked Remus. 

“I don’t know. They didn’t say.” Not wanting to upset Remus further, Harry avoided saying Undersecretary Umbridge’s name again… but there was something about her that stuck in his craw. Just her association with the Carrows was enough to bring a bitter taste to the back of his throat, but this was something more. Realizing that he’d been quiet for a long time, Harry ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. 

“But anyway, I was so glad I got off that I threw all of the galleons I had with me into the fountain at the Ministry,” he added with a grin. 

At that minute, Sirius came barging into the kitchen. 

“So school begins in two weeks, eh Harry? It will be a busy one for you, I’m afraid, what with St. Mungo’s and all,” he said ruefully. He poured himself a mugful of tea and sat down beside Harry, facing outward, leaning his elbows back on the table. 

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” answered Harry, thinking of the scheduled procedure on his eyes. The butterflies in his stomach rivaled those he’d had before the hearing. 

“Don’t you want to regain some sight?” asked Remus in surprise. 

“Of course I do!” answered Harry. “It’s just...” he trailed off, not daring to wonder aloud how much it would hurt. His stomach clenched. _“And what if it didn’t work?”_ he thought. 

“It will be all right,” O’Carolan comforted in his Irish brogue, unsoftened by his years teaching in Norway. Harry relaxed. If anyone understood, it was Professor O’Carolan. 

Harry said goodnight and headed up the creaky stairs to bed, wondering if he’d sleep at all.


	7. Visus enim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors’ note: First off, if you’ve read BrailleErin’s Harry Potter and the Blind Seer of Durmstrang fic (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6673903/1/Harry-Potter-and-the-Blind-Seer-of-Durmstrang), then you know that Harry didn’t attend Hogwarts in his 4th year or compete in the Goblet of Fire tournament. Cedric Diggory did, however, though he was grievously injured by Death Eaters. That’s important because we’re basing our Cedric on Minisinoo’s depiction of Cedric in their work, Finding Himself (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/4594634/1/FINDING-HIMSELF). We’ve asked for permission, but haven’t heard back yet and hope that crediting the original story is sufficient. Also, we’re bringing in a couple of original characters (Gemma Boot and Mei Lee) from Hegemone’s Blind-Harry fic, Basilisk Eyes (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13160266/1/Basilisk-Eyes) into this story.
> 
> [break]

Harry fingered the sheets of the bed, which were smoother than his sheets at Grimmauld Place, and felt exactly like the sheets in the muggle hospital. Apparently, they were the same in hospitals everywhere. With his head nestled into the pillow, Harry listened to the nervous thrumming of his own heart.

 _There’s no need to be nervous_ , he told himself. _If it fails, you’ll be exactly how you are now_.

His nerves came, he realized, because of how badly he did NOT want it to fail.

The potion.

Snape’s potion. 

Essence of _Ánoixe._

He’d been brewing it for weeks, Harry had been told. He could almost smell the musty little book they had uncovered in Grimmauld Place, almost hear the ancient, creaking voice as it read its own words aloud to him, falling open in his hands, its pages cracking into dust. The voice had been insistent about how the potion had to be administered before the incantation. This was no instant cure. No snap of fingers or flick of a wand to restore his vision. Not to mention the directions had been far more complex than any other potion he had heard of, including both Polyjuice potion and the Wolfsbane potion Snape had had him brew during detention his third year. He could almost smell the pungent odor of the Aconite again. He was glad he didn’t have to brew it.

And of course, his brain would float the most unpleasant ingredients through his memory again as he waited… frog brains and beetle eyes! ( _Why?!_ ).

Used in conjunction with the _Visus enim_ spell it was going to reverse the effects of the _Caeco_ spell that had blinded Harry last spring… when Voldemort had pointed his wand at Harry and taken the last ragged scraps of sight away from him. Now those scraps might come back. 

His sight would never be perfect. He knew that. The killing curse had done its work too well. Still, he might get a little light perception back. 

_But would it work?_

Harry’s stomach turned over again. 

_What if it didn’t work?_

He remembered the first plume of hope that had erupted within him at its words, at the discovery of the countercurse he hadn’t known existed.

_Now it was time._

_But would it work?_

The sound of the door opening made Harry start.

“Hello, Mr. Potter,” came the measured tones of Albus Dumbledore’s voice.

“Hi,” replied Harry, his voice cracking in a two-pitched squeak. “Err, hello,” he repeated, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Professor Snape is here with me, as is Healer Smethwyck, your mediwizard, and Sirius Black. Are you ready?” Professor Dumbledore didn’t waste time in chitchat, for which Harry felt grateful. 

Harry opened his mouth to say that yes, he was ready, but discovered that it had gone so dry nothing came out. He nodded. 

Then there was a long period of dithering about, where the adults spoke in hushed voices, and Harry didn’t pay any attention because his heart was now hammering in his ears. Sirius came over to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Harry wasn’t sure how he knew it was Sirius, but he was absolutely certain, and he felt a warmth of belonging spread over him.

At last Healer Smethwyck stepped toward his bed. “Now don’t be concerned,” he began, and Harry nearly snorted. “This is a relatively simple procedure. Lie back while I do a few preliminary diagnostic spells.”

Since Harry was already laying flat on his back, he simply continued doing so. He heard Healer Smethwyck muttering to himself under his breath, and assumed he was holding his wand over him. He soon turned back to the others.

“He is ready,” he announced. “You may sit up now, Mr. Potter.”

Professor Dumbledore stepped forward. “Harry, please drink this potion, we will wait exactly 14 minutes and then I will perform the countercurse,” he instructed.

He handed Harry a small, fat vial. Harry took it and obediently swallowed the thick, slimy liquid, trying not to grimace as he did so. He imagined Professor Snape watching silently from across the room with a look of quiet amusement on his face.

Unfortunately, almost as soon as he had swallowed the potion, his stomach began to writhe and his head to spin. He feared he might honk the entire mess back up again. His hands clutched at the sides of the bed as he grew dizzier.

Healer Smethwyck placed a large pillow behind him, and he leaned against it, sucking in lungfuls of air, trying not to vomit. He focused on Snape’s smirk of triumph if he tossed up the potion and the whole thing was ruined, and he somehow managed to keep it down as the clock next to his bed continued its ticking.

“Thirteen minutes,” intoned Professor Dumbledore. “Nearly there, Mr. Potter.”

Harry wondered if they knew just how wretched he felt and why they hadn’t warned him. He supposed it wouldn’t have done any good if they had. It would have only made his nerves worse. He mentally braced himself for the countercurse.

He heard Dumbledore raise his wand, and then it came: “ _Visus enim_!”

Instantly, Harry’s head exploded with light. Reflexively, he jerked his face to the side, crushing his palms into his eyes to block out the searing, biting brightness that seemed to pierce through his very skull. Without realizing it, he moaned and retched, writhing on the now-wrinkled hospital sheets.

Over and over he vomited, his body clearing the unneeded potion from his system. He kept his hand pressed against his eyes as pain sliced around his head.

“Mr. Potter,” said Healer Smethwyck gently. “I have darkened the lights if it will help you to feel more comfortable. And you should recover from the nausea caused by the potion in only a few hours.”

_A few hours?!?_

Harry thought he might hurl up his toenails before then. Healer Smethwyck used his wand to vanish the sick and gave Harry a soothing potion that made him feel as though he might be floating. He vaguely heard Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape, and the others bid him goodbye and slip out of the room.

Sirius touched his shoulder again and said, “I’ll check on you soon.”

Harry thought they all left, except for someone who sat wearily in a chair beside Harry’s bed with an odd clank, which Harry couldn’t place but was too sleepy to care.

Harry found with the room nearly dark that he could remove his hands from his eyes, although they remained closed and his head still ached fiercely. He wondered who was sitting there. Sirius? O’Carolan?

He lay motionless, too ill and strangely detached to really care or move. He didn’t know how long he lay there, or even if he fell asleep, but when he finally moved and wanted to think about looking around, he found that the terrible nausea had left him.

“Feeling better?” The person sitting on the chair beside Harry spoke for the first time, and the voice was that of a young person, someone Harry felt he ought to know but couldn’t place.

“Who…?” he asked, drawing his knees up to his chest. 

“Oh, sorry,” said the boy quickly. “It’s Cedric. Diggory.”

Harry frowned in confusion. The boy who had won the Triwizard Tournament while he was away at Durmstrang? Harry had heard he was injured somehow doing it, but he hadn’t known the details. Was that why he was here at St. Mungo’s?

“Cedric?” he asked thickly, the calming potion still clogging his wits.

“Yeah, I’ve been here all summer,” said Cedric.

“I heard you got hurt,” said Harry, trying to remember.

“At the end of the Triwizard Tournament,” explained Cedric. “Death Eaters. There was a curse. My spine… my legs are partially paralyzed… I guess.”

“Partially paralyzed?” repeated Harry. “So, err, can you walk?”

“Oh yeah, guess you can’t see them,” Cedric said with a laugh that seemed rather bitter. “Crutches. And a wheelchair sometimes when I’m tired.”

Harry was silent for a full minute, digesting this information. So there were more disabled students at Hogwarts than he realized. “That must be a pain,” he said finally.

Cedric snorted. “Pain is the main thing, yes,” he said, again with the edge of bitterness.

Harry said quietly, “I know what you mean, mate.” They both sat in silence for a few minutes, needing no words between them but both knowing the crushing physical agony that few others could possibly understand. 

Then Harry asked, “It’s new for you, though?”

Cedric affirmed that he was still getting used to the injury. He talked about how he would dream that he was running or flying on his broom and then he would wake up. Harry remembered dreaming about the colors and told Cedric so. He remembered the vivid red of the awning over the pavement that was the last thing he saw before he lost his sight. He told Cedric about that.

The two boys were silent for a while.

“You have some sight back now?” asked Cedric at last.

“They could get it back to what it was before Voldemort used the blinding curse on me…” He paused as Cedric gasped when he said the name. After a moment, he continued, “... but it’s not normal sight,” explained Harry. “No color. Everything is all hazy and I forgot how much the light hurts.”

“Why can’t they get it all back?” asked Cedric curiously.

“I don’t know,” said Harry miserably. “Something about it being a killing curse before and it damaging parts of my eyes.”

“Oh,” said Cedric in solemn sympathy.

“I guess there are some things even magic can’t fix,” said Harry.

“My legs,” said Cedric.

Harry said nothing. No words were needed.

“Hey, at least I’m not the only one,” said Cedric as if trying to force brightness into his voice.

“Only one what? Incredibly handsome ladykiller?” asked Harry innocently.

Cedric, who hadn’t had time to develop any gimp jokes, suddenly burst out laughing at this. “I have competition, I see,” he said finally.

There was a rustling noise at the door which Harry turned toward and regretted instantly as light erupted into the room. Harry clutched at his eyes as tears squeezed out of the corners. 

“Gah!” he cried out. 

“What is it?”

“The light!” Harry explained. He wondered who had entered the room. There was a quiet padding of feet as the person… a small person… came into the room, paused briefly, and then tentatively approached his bed. 

A small, warm hand touched his arm and Harry lowered his hands from his face. 

“Gemma? Is that you?” he asked.

She tapped, “yes.” 

Harry grinned up at her and started to tell her how excited he was that she was there and then realized that he hadn’t cast the spell that wrote his words out on bits of parchment. 

“Cedric, do you know where my wand is?” Harry asked. 

“Huh?” Cedric replied. “Why do you need your wand?”

“So I can talk with Gemma. Do you know Gemma?” Harry signed a rough version of what he was saying for Gemma’s sake. His fingers felt clumsy. It had been a while since he’d used the sign language he learned when he was in training with Gemma. 

“Oh, yeah. Wow. How _do_ you talk with Gemma?”

“You know each other?” Harry asked while also signing to Gemma.

Gemma made a laughing “yes” sign on his arm. 

“Oh right! Hufflepuff! I forgot!” Harry made a fist and rubbed it in a circle against his chest. Gemma batted playfully at his hand. 

Cedric shifted in the chair where he sat, and then his crutches sounded on the tile floor, followed by the sound of something dragging. 

_His feet._ Harry realized.

Cedric stopped near the head of Harry’s bed and adjusted his crutches. “Here’s your wand, Harry.” 

Harry reached out toward Cedric and Gemma helped put the wand in his palm. “Thanks,” Harry signed as he said it. Then he muttered “ _Scribunt loqui”_ and listened as the parchment that wrote out his words fluttered next to his lips.

“How do you speak with Gemma?” Harry asked Cedric. 

“I learned a bit of sign language since Gemma was sorted into Hufflepuff, though it looks like you know more than I do,” Cedric admitted. He paused for a bit and Harry gathered that he was signing to Gemma. “So, Gemma’s signing on your arm? Is that what you’re doing?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s, well, brilliant!” 

Harry beamed as Gemma made the laughing sign on his arm in agreement. 

“I forgot about that writing charm. I should cast it. Is that easier for you, Gemma?” Cedric asked. “Especially now… when my hands are occupied…” Cedric tapped his crutches on the floor and then walked back to the chair he’d been sitting in earlier. 

Gemma perched on the side of Harry’s bed and asked him how he was feeling. 

Harry explained about the procedure, the nausea, and how much the light hurt.

“Was it worth it?” Gemma asked. 

“I think so,” Harry sighed. _He hoped so._

“How much longer do you have to stay?” Gemma asked. 

“I’m not really sure. A few days? They want to do some tests… I guess they haven’t had many chances to use the potion and spell… and I’m their guinea pig…” 

“Guinea pig? What does that mean?” Cedric burst into laughter. 

“Oh, just a muggle phrase… you know… they do experiments on animals to see if their chemicals will hurt humans.” 

“What?! That’s barbaric!” 

“About as barbaric as vanishing kittens,” Harry responded. He was feeling tired and not up to defending muggle practices. 

“Yeah, I guess so. Where _do_ they go?”

Gemma’s hand tightened around Harry’s wrist and she started to sign vehemently. He started to make the sorry circle on his chest when the room was cut open by the light from the corridor again. 

“Oh, there you are, Cedric, dear!” the voice of a posh woman floated in on the light. “I thought that was your voice. Why are you sitting in a dark room?”

“Mum! I didn’t know you were going to visit today!” Cedric exclaimed. 

“I had a painting to deliver to the gallery and it’s not so far from here, so I thought I’d drop by and surprise you! But then I couldn’t find you in your room!”

“Mum, I’d like you to meet some friends of mine from Hogwarts,” Cedric said as he stood up again and approached Harry’s bed. “This is Gemma Boot, she’s a fourth-year in Hufflepuff and this is Harry Potter, he’s a fifth-year Gryffindor. Gemma, Harry, this is my mother, Lucy Diggory.”

Gemma’s hand left Harry’s arm as she greeted Mrs. Diggory. 

“It’s very nice to meet you, Gemma,” Mrs. Diggory spoke slowly. 

There was a pause and Harry offered his hand in her direction as he tried to sit up, but grunted and fell back against his pillow as the bed seemed to tilt and lurch. 

“Oh, Harry,” Mrs. Diggory exclaimed as her warm hand took his. “Don’t exert yourself on my account. And what has happened to put you in the hospital?”

“Oh, well… just a counter-curse.” 

“Ah, you were cursed, too? And did it work? The counter-curse?” Her voice sounded oddly bitter. 

Harry gulped. “Er, yes. I think so.” 

“Well, I’m glad. I wish the same could be true for Cedric.”

“Mum,” Cedric protested. 

“So, you’re an artist?” Harry said, fishing for another topic. “I understand that Gemma is quite the artist, too.”

“You understand? You don’t trust your own judgement?” There was something sharp about Mrs. Diggory’s tone that made Harry feel rather weary. He closed his eyes and tried to sink further into his pillows. 

“Mum, Harry’s blind. He met Gemma after he lost his sight. He’s never seen her work.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Harry. I forgot. I think I remember hearing about that. The three of you… er, I suppose there’s some comfort…”

“Yes. Yes! We’re forming a club, Mum!” Cedric said, clearly exasperated. His crutches rattled as he moved closer to the door. “I think Harry’s tired. Let’s let him be.”

“I didn’t mean… I’m sorry. Gemma, I hope you’ll show me your artwork someday. Harry, it was nice to meet you. I hope you recover fully from the curse.”

Harry shut his eyes as the door opened again and then breathed out once he heard it close. Gemma’s hand was on his arm again.

“I’ll go, too, Harry,” she signed protactily. “Feel better soon.”

He grasped her hand before she left and squeezed. “Thank you, Gemma.” 

[break]

A week later, Harry made his way up to the rooftop garden at the top of St. Mungo’s Hospital to enjoy a breath of air and some sunshine on his last day before going home to Grimmauld Place. In a week, he’d be returning to Hogwarts. His eyes still ached fiercely, and he had agreed to keep them bandaged for the outing on the roof, knowing how much the sun would hurt. That pain aside, however, he felt better than he had in a long while. He was glad the nausea and fatigue from the procedure had finally worn away. It had definitely lasted longer than the “few hours” Healer Smethwyck had predicted.

He stepped from the coolness of the stairwell into warm sunlight. He had chosen to climb the stairs rather than take the lift as his muscles cried out for exercise. On the roof, he took a minute to tip his face toward the August sun and enjoy the smell of late-summer flowers blooming in boxes here and there, interspersed with benches, creating spaces to sit and relax. He had been up here quite a few times last summer while waiting for Sirius to recuperate and he remembered the rough layout. 

Sweeping his cane in front of him to be sure his path was clear, he ambled toward a near bench, listening to the sound of a bird singing. He wondered vaguely if it was a robin. He didn’t know many other species of birds so had no idea to what bird this song belonged.

Then, he began to be aware of another sound behind the sound of the bird singing. Low voices came from behind one of the flower boxes in a small, private alcove. One voice finished and another, lower one answered it, causing the other to erupt in giggles. 

Harry was about to turn away, ignoring the people conversing, when the higher one said something a bit louder and he gasped. It sounded like Hermoine! He wasn’t sure but it was enough to pique his curiosity. He walked toward the voices, his cane finding the edge of the flower boxes, and then the privacy screen covered with clematis. With his cane tip, he followed the screen to its edge and rounded the corner.

“Harry!” said Hermione in surprise, for there could be no doubt now that it was her.

“Harry!” the other person echoed, and Harry was shocked to notice that it sounded very much like Cedric Diggory.

“What are you doing up here?” he asked Hermione in confusion.

“Oh! I… err…. Well, Cedric and I came up here to have a chat and…” Hermoine began. Harry couldn’t remember when he had heard confident Hermione this flustered. 

“Yeah, hi mate,” said Cedric warmly. “Join us.”

Harry didn’t know exactly where the benches were in this section and he stepped hesitantly forward, looking with his cane for somewhere to sit. The cane hit something metal with a _ping_. 

“Oh, err… my wheelchair,” explained Cedric awkwardly.

“Here, Harry,” said Hermione, putting her elbow against the back of Harry’s hand to guide him to a seat.

“You know what,” said Harry hastily, not liking the tension in the air. Obviously he had interrupted something, and despite Cedric’s welcome, he still felt strange. “I’ll just be going. I forgot I needed to pack up my things before Sirius comes…” He let his words trail off and turned to make his way back around the privacy screen.

As he walked back to his room, he wondered if Cedric and Hermione had gotten to know each other better while he was at Durmstrang and just hadn’t mentioned it to him. He thought about sending an owl to Ron to ask, but by the time he was packing his bag, he’d forgotten.


	8. Intersection Alley

**Authors’ Note:** We borrowed the concept of The Guild of the Night from Harry Potter and the Guild of the Night by Katling that can be read on ffnet and  [ fiction alle ](https://fictionalley.ikeran.org/authors/katling/HPATGOTN.html) [y.](https://fictionalley.ikeran.org/authors/katling/HPATGOTN.html) Kudos on a great fic!

[break]

As Harry, Sirius and Remus stepped through the door of the Leaky Cauldron, the usual buzz and murmur of voices faded, giving way to the awkward silence of curiosity. Sirius, still a shady character in many minds, accompanied by both Remus, a suspected werewolf and also the famous Harry Potter: famous as the Boy-Who-Lived but also more recently with the added curiosities of blindness, the school exchange, exaggerated rumors of a cure, and the Inquisition…. there was no limit to the tale-telling in which his name featured. 

Harry, holding Remus’s elbow, suppressed a sigh. He was tired to death of it all. Tired of the gossip, the rumors. Today, the pain in his eyes was worse again, too. The least amount of light gave him a debilitating headache, which resulted in Healer Smethwyck simply bandaging his eyes to allow them to rest and heal, but the bandage made Harry feel even more conspicuous. It also made him feel discouraged, as though all the discomfort and pain of reversing the blindness curse had been for nothing. He wondered if it would have been better if they had left it there. But no, that sounded crazy. 

Remus guided him carefully through the labyrinth of tables and chairs to the back of the small pub. 

“Fifth year!” remarked Sirius with a smile in his voice. He’d flatly refused to go to Diagon Alley as a dog, and especially not as Harry’s guide dog. After two weeks of that charade at the Dursleys, he said he was not going to put that harness on again for a good long bit. 

“Remember when we were fifth years?” asked Remus with a grin. 

“Of course!” replied Sirius heartily. “We had all finally mastered the Animagus Transformations by then. I believe it was that year we began work on the Map itself.” 

“I think it was Sixth,” objected Remus. 

“No, you’re right. Fifth was the year that we… oh! Here’s the brick,” said Sirius, interrupting himself. 

Harry grinned, listening to the two share memories. It was nearly as good as having his father back here with them. Not quite, but almost. 

“Here we are. Watch your step,” admonished Remus as they entered Diagon Alley. 

As school would be starting in only a week, the narrow street was packed with Hogwarts students and their parents getting their supplies, just as Harry was doing. Harry could hear the clatter of shoes and voices shouting as friends greeted one another. 

“Harry!” The voice was accompanied by running footsteps as Hermione ran up to Harry and surprised him by giving him a hug. 

“Hermione,” said Harry with a grin, feeling smothered in her personality and her hair. 

“Long time, no see,” he joked, since he had just seen her at St. Mungo’s, and realized he'd inadvertently also made a rather awful pun. She laughed, and asked if he’d gotten his robes yet. 

“No,” Harry answered. “We just arrived.”

“Well, you might want to visit Madame Malkin first before she gets busy with fittings,” advised Hermione. “I’ll find you in a bit; I’m meeting someone!” She dashed off without further explanation, leaving Harry feeling mystified. 

As usual upon arriving in Diagon Alley, his first order of business was to visit Gringott’s, the Wizard bank.  Standing at the foot of the stairs, Harry was struck with the memory of being in this exact spot every year since he started at Hogwarts. His throat grew tight as he remembered how over the last two years, he had been able to tell how much his vision had changed. The first year the steps had been majestic and crisply white with dark shadows defining the steps. Then he was attacked, his vision damaged and the stairs were blurred and misty, but still discernible. Last year, they had faded into an indistinguishable wall of white. He realized that he had been anticipating being able to tell how much of his vision had been restored today. This year, however, with the bandages on, he could see nothing, and he remembered the fear of total blindness he’d experienced last year on this spot. Having faced it and come out the other side, he realized that fear had completely vanished, although after facing the moral dilemmas of challenging the Dark Lord last year, he felt ages older and wiser. Common sense told him not to get too cocky about all of his worldly experience, however. 

He and Sirius both had bank vaults to visit, which took some time riding around in the magical mining cars underground. At one point, warding off a flock of bats with his arms and hands, he smelled something burning, combined with a dry, dusty smell and guessed that he smelled a dragon, but they whooshed by too quickly to be sure. He enjoyed the ride, but soon they had collected their Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts, which Harry could easily differentiate by their sizes, and were heading back out again into the sunshine of the late August day. 

“Shall we go to Madame Malkin first as Miss Hermione suggested?” asked Sirius with mock graciousness. 

“Err, I’d rather go to the Shop of Requirement first,” said Harry, shifting his weight from foot to foot. 

“The Shop of What?” asked Sirius, turning to face Harry. 

“Requirement,” repeated Harry. “It’s along here somewhere, at least it was the last two years. It has canes and Braille stuff.”

“I’ve never seen that shop before,” put in Remus.

Harry continued over him. “It’s only there if you need it. For disabled witches and wizards.”

Sirius, who lived in a disappearing house, accepted this explanation immediately. 

“Well, where is it?” he asked. 

“I-I’m not sure,” faltered Harry. “Hagrid took me last year.” All of them laughed at the problem of the shop being findable only by the person who couldn’t find it. 

As they stood on the pavement laughing and wondering what to do, Harry heard a sound behind them. It sort of sounded like footsteps, but there was also a thump and a scraping of metal on stone. 

“What’s the joke?” asked an amused voice that Harry recognized as Cedric’s, and suddenly the odd noises made sense. His crutches must have made the thump, and something metal on his shoes scraped the pavement. Harry supposed it wouldn’t be hard to tell it was him in the future, and he grinned to himself. 

“We were looking for the Shop of Requirement,” explained Remus. 

“Harry told us about that!” exclaimed Hermione, to whom the footsteps had apparently belonged. Harry took a brief moment to wonder what she was doing following Cedric around, of all people, but he was soon distracted by the conversation. 

Cedric asked what the Shop of Requirement was, and Hermione launched into an enthusiastic explanation based on Harry’s accounts from previous visits. “I’d love to see it,” she concluded. 

“Cedric can help us find it!” Harry burst out, and then instantly regretted his words as a frosty silence emanated from Cedric. Harry mentally kicked himself. Of course, Cedric wasn’t comfortable yet in a new identity as a disabled person, even though the glaringly obvious fact remained that he was now disabled. Harry knew that it simply took time to adjust.

After a long, awkward silence, Cedric said faintly, “sure, I’ll help you find it. What does it look like?”

“No idea,” said Harry cheerfully, and with that, the tension snapped and everyone laughed. 

“Hold it; it’s right there,” said Cedric, and though Harry didn’t know which way he indicated, it soon became apparent because the small knot of people all moved to follow him toward the shop. 

“Hi Harry! How are you doing? It’s Colin! Colin Creavy. I’m here with Dennis, you know, my little brother. He really, really wanted to meet you, so I’m so glad we found you here today!” The voice, breathless and accompanied by hurrying footsteps came closer to Harry and his friends from across the street, and Harry mentally cringed. He turned slowly.

“It’s Harry Potter!” exclaimed the younger boy in awe. “What is the bandage on your face for? I thought your eyes were all fixed?”

“Err, hello Colin, Dennis,” said Harry as genially as he was able.

“You look like a mummy with that bandage on! Can I take my picture with you and my brother?” asked Colin, and Harry thought to himself that if he could see Colin at that moment, he might very well haul off and smack him.

“Errr..” began Harry, but Dennis broke in.

“I’m a second year this year, Harry! Just like you were when you killed the Basilisk! What was it like, killing a Basilisk?”

“It was…” Harry said, but Colin cut him off, much to Dennis’s apparent annoyance, as he shoved his brother, who shoved back.

“Have you been to Madame Malkin’s shop yet? We are just going there. You can come with us if you like,” Colin said, once he felt satisfied that his little brother had been put in his place and he was free to control the conversation.

“Sorry,” put in Sirius with amusement. “We have another shop to visit first. It was very nice to speak with you.” He took Harry’s elbow and piloted him away, much to Harry’s relief.

“Your fan club is in fine form, I see,” stated Cedric dryly as the group made its way through the door of the Shop of Requirement where the little bell tinkled in welcome.

“It sure is,” agreed Harry ruefully, remembering the familiar little shop that he had first discovered two years ago. It still smelled the same: like the old secondhand shop that Mrs. Figg had once taken him to in Little Whinging. Its many shelves still gave the feeling of being cluttered with odds and ends of every kind: quills and special inks, magnifiers, canes, walkers, wand handles, glasses, lenses, rememberalls, pensieves, braces, wraps, games, cards, clothes labels, arm extenders… Harry couldn’t remember all the stuff he’d been told was in here. The floor, rather than being made of stone, felt spongy, almost like moss.

“Hello, everyone!” greeted the little witch, bustling out from behind her counter. “Welcome to the Shop of Requirement!”

“Would you look at this place!” exclaimed Hermione. “It has more stuff every way you turn!”

“And what can I do for you today? More lenses? A spare cane perhaps?” she asked Harry.

As his friends fanned out through the shop to look at the adaptive equipment, Harry turned toward the helpful little witch. “ Er... uh... I'm sorry ,” he said,  "I don't know your name."

“Oh my goodness, have I not introduced myself? I apologize! My name is Madame Worthington,” she said brightly.

“Madame Worthington,” he repeated, in order to remember it, “I wanted to ask about brailled textbooks for this year. I know I didn’t get here early enough…”

“As a matter of fact, Mr. Lupin sent me an owl back in June requesting that I put in an order for you,” she assured him. “I have them all ready… If I can find the right boxes back here… I’ll not be a minute…” She hurried away into a back room, talking to herself as she went.

“You did that?” asked Harry, turning to where he thought Remus was standing. “I don’t know which classes I’ll be taking yet.”

“I’m just over here,” called Remus from a far wall. “I made my best guess. Better most of them than none at all, right?”

“Thank you,” said Harry, surprised and somewhat touched that someone had gone out of their way to look out for him.

“No problem,” responded Remus, obviously engrossed in whatever he was examining.

Madame Worthington set a large box on her counter, and then another, and another. “Here we are, then,” she said, out of breath. Harry made his way toward her and touched them. Volume upon volume of massive books were packed in the boxes, the titles sideways on the covers reading things like: History of Magic, Volume One of Twelve. Harry could not suppress a sigh.

Hermione followed him. “You have all your books this year. I love Braille books!”

Harry shook his head. To Hermione, if a book was good, a bigger book was better. “I’ll never be able to read all of this,” he moaned. “I’m still not a fast Braille reader.”

“I’ll still read aloud some of it,” she assured him, and he gave her a grateful smile.

“Is there anything else you’ll need?” asked Madame Worthington.

“A spare cane is a good idea,” mused Harry. “I lost mine last year. How about blackout glasses?”

“We just got these in this year,” said Madame Worthington. “These glasses can be adjusted with a tap of your wand from shades to full blackout. I’ll also adjust them to include the red color that you used last year as an option.”

“Fantastic!” enthused Harry. “I’ll take them!” He added a new deck of Braille Exploding Snap cards, a Quick Quotes Quill, Bitumus paper, and another Braille slate and stylus to his pile.

Once he had finished, Madame Worthington headed off to find Cedric, and Harry wandered amongst the shelves of items, wary of touching them lest he knock off something fragile. He found the rack of canes and tried out several styles and different tips.

Once Cedric was also finished, Sirius arranged for the boxes of books to be sent ahead to Hogwarts, and they left the shop.

[break]

With his hand on one wall, Harry descended the narrow, twisting stone steps to the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. The room was dark as he entered; only the glow of firelight lit the far end of the room with mildly moving shadows.

“Hello, Harry,” came Professor O’Carolan’s greeting from across the room. A tea cup clinked on its saucer. 

Harry let the backs of his fingers brush the edge of the wooden table as he made his way along the length of the room. He lifted his feet so he wouldn’t trip on the uneven old stones that made up the floor, and he hardly noticed the homely smells of the fire and vague memories of a thousand meals cooked and eaten here. 

He reached the end of the table near the fire and seated himself across the table from O’Carolan, who carefully poured him a cup of tea and slid it raspily toward him on the wooden tabletop.

“Hello, sir, how are you feeling?” Harry asked, tracing his fingertips across the surface of the table until they encountered the china teacup. He picked it up and took a sip of the scorching liquid. 

“I’ll be ship-shape in no time,” answered O’Carolan cheerfully, but Harry noticed he still spoke slowly as if he was a bit tired. “School begins next week?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said with a smile. “The train leaves Friday. I’ll be glad to be back at Hogwarts.”

“You won’t miss old Durmstrang, eh?” joked O’Carolan. 

“There were good things about it, too,” said Harry defensively, “But it wasn’t Hogwarts.”

“And therein lies the rub,” continued O’Carolan. “So few places can be Hogwarts.”

“Are you really not going back to Durmstrang?” asked Harry. 

“Not this year, like I said,” answered O’Carolan. “I’ve taken leave for a year. I may come visit Hogwarts myself for a while.”

“Really?” asked Harry with enthusiasm. “I’d love to see you there.”

“Albus Dumbledore is an old friend,” said O’Carolan. “It’s time I see what he is up to. He offered me a consulting position. Might have to be sure you stay out of trouble, too, Mr. Potter.”

Harry laughed. “I’m never any trouble, sir,” he joked. 

“Never,” agreed O’Carolan sarcastically. 

They sat sipping their tea and enjoying the fire’s warmth in companionable silence for a long minute. 

“The Carrows were there at my hearing,” began Harry. “It sounds like they are going to be at Hogwarts, too.”

“Oh dear,” lamented O’Carolan. “Speaking of trouble.” His voice was not joking now. 

“What do you mean?” asked Harry, a prickle of fear running up his spine. 

“Those two would not make a move like this unless they are planning some mischief,” explained O’Carolan. 

“But Voldemort’s gone, vanished,” protested Harry. “I was there.”

“His loyal followers will carry out his ideals in his absence, nonetheless,” mused O’Carolan. 

“To take over the wizarding world?” asked Harry. 

“Eventually, yes,” said O’Carolan. “But not so blatantly. I’ve worked alongside those two for years at Durmstrang. They are clever… and sly.”

“You suspect something sneaky?” asked Harry. 

“They aren’t the types to sit quietly doing nothing but teaching knitting,” replied O’Carolan dryly. 

“Why do we learn knitting?” asked Harry. 

“That, my boy, cannot be explained. You must discover the answer for yourself,” said O’Carolan gently. Then he changed the subject. “How are the eyes?”

“They hurt,” answered Harry ruefully. 

“They have endured a lot lately,” commented O’Carolan. 

“I didn’t know it would hurt so much, getting sight back,” confessed Harry. “It almost doesn’t seem worth it. I know that sounds crazy.”

“It doesn’t sound crazy to me,” said O’Carolan. “But to me, blindness isn’t the terrible tragedy it is to the sighted world. I’ve lived quite a comfortable life with no sight at all.”

“Most people would rather die than go blind,” said Harry cautiously. 

“They think they would feel that way only because they don’t know what blindness is really like,” said O’Carolan. 

“I didn’t,” said Harry. “I thought it would be this terrible darkness and that I’d be unable to do anything at all.”

“And was it?” asked O’Carolan. 

“No,” answered Harry. “It wasn’t darkness in my soul. It wasn’t even that dark in my eyes. They just didn’t work.”

“And now?” asked O’Carolan. 

“I can see… light. No colors. Everything is milky and misty. But it’s not very useful. And they hurt so badly,” Harry faltered. 

“Have you told Sirius or your Healers?” asked O’Carolan anxiously. 

“No, Sirius would just fuss. And I don’t want to go back to St. Mungo’s!” Harry exploded. 

“Just asking,” retorted O’Carolan. “There might be something they can do for the pain.”

“They said it would just take time,” explained Harry. “I am supposed to see Madame Pomfrey for follow-up care. I can ask her.”

“I understand,” soothed O’Carolan. 

“Do you?” asked Harry miserably. 

“When I was a child,” began O’Carolan, “my father could not accept that I would be blind. He said that there had to be something they could do to fix it. Some spell or potion.”

Harry remembered asking the same thing about his own eyes. He listened tensely. 

“He and my mother took me to healers all over Europe. Some tried very painful spells and procedures. I had never known sight so I didn’t miss it, but my father could not see how I could possibly have a good life if I couldn’t see. He only saw the darkness.”

“And?” asked Harry. “Did he finally accept you as you are?”

“No,” said O’Carolan sadly. “He left our family. It tore him apart.”

“But you seem so accepting of it,” said Harry wonderingly. 

“It took a long time,” reminisced O’Carolan. “I hated myself. I hated my blindness. Not for what it was but for what it did to him. I felt as though it was my fault.”

“You didn’t choose to be born blind,” said Harry.

“No, and that’s what I finally realized,” replied O’Carolan. “His problems and beliefs were his. I had to let those go and live a good life without his hatred ruining it. It’s ironic, really, that his fear of blindness was far more debilitating than my actual blindness ever could be.”

Harry sat pondering this. 

“I’ve lived a good life,” continued O’Carolan. “I’ve traveled the world. I’ve met interesting people. I love to teach. I had love…”

“You did?” asked Harry, startled. 

“Oh yes,” replied O’Carolan easily. “I was married. Once long ago. She died, you see.”

“I’m sorry,” murmured Harry, not knowing what to say. 

“‘Tis sweeter to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” quoted O’Carolan. “The pain has gone out of those old memories long ago.”

Harry pondered this in silence, his eyes closed. 

“You’ll understand when you’re as old as I am,” finished O’Carolan with a smile in his voice. 

“How do you do it?” asked Harry at last. 

“Do what?” queried O’Carolan, pouring himself another cup of tea. 

“All of it. Accept… and go on… ” Harry floundered. 

“Time. The understanding of those who do understand. Learning to not take myself too seriously,” said O’Carolan. 

“Can anyone else ever truly understand?” asked Harry hopelessly. 

“Sure they can,” answered O’Carolan. “Others who have accepted themselves. Sometimes those with disabilities who have wrestled with this. Sometimes just those who have an ability to see outside their own experience.”

Harry thought of Luna.  _ She was like that _ , he realized. 

“It takes time, and often humor,” said O’Carolan. “The young just take everything too seriously.”

Harry laughed shakily. He supposed this was true, although how a person could not take things seriously seemed a mystery. 

“More tea?” asked O’Carolan. 

“Sure,” said Harry. “I’ll get some biscuits.”

While they munched the Scottish shortbread biscuits from a tin, Harry asked, “You mentioned earlier a way of dueling blind that you’d learned?”

“Ah, yes,” agreed O’Carolan. “I was in Japan years ago and studied with the Guild of the Night.” 

“What is that?” asked Harry. 

“It’s an ultra-secret group of blind witches and wizards who combine wand duelling with martial arts and other Eastern magical techniques,” explained O’Carolan. 

“And you joined them?” prompted Harry. 

“I didn’t become a full member of the Guild,” said O’Carolan. “But I did study with them for quite some time and learned many of their techniques.”

“If you know ninja fighting, how did the Carrows capture you last year?” asked Harry, not thinking about his tactlessness until the words were out.

“Well,” said O’Carolan with a short laugh. “That’s a bit of an embarrassing question…”

“Sorry,” said Harry contritely.

O’Carolan continued past the interruption. “...the short answer is that I let my guard down and they took me by surprise. I was distracted…”

“... Worrying about me,” finished Harry miserably. “I made such a mistake.”

“You were a mere fourteen years old, pitting your wits against one of the most evil dark wizards of our time,” soothed O’Carolan. “On the whole, I would say you did well.”

Harry sat silently, unconvinced. At last he ventured, “Can you teach me? How to duel that way?”

“When we’ve time, I will,” promised O’Carolan. “When I get to Hogwarts. Now, pass that biscuit tin back over here.”


	9. Homecoming

Darkness had closed over the Hogwarts Express while the train rocked and chugged its way northward. Harry sat in a compartment with Ron, Hermione, and Neville, who had just changed into his school robes but had to redo the entire process due to their being wrong way out. Harry smiled to himself, thinking of all the times he had done this. Ron made quite a show out of arranging his prefect badge on his robes. Hermione, who was also a prefect, told him to cool it, and Ron sat down with a huff. Harry grinned. 

“Did you hear about Cedric?” asked Ron out of nowhere, and Harry heard Hermione suck in a quick breath. 

“Cedric?” responded Harry warily. “What about him?”

“Oh, just that he got hurt last year in the Tri-Wizard Tournament,” contributed Hermione, looking up from the book in which she had been buried for most of the train ride. “It’s not something to gossip about,” she said frostily, returning to her book. 

“Hurt?” asked Neville. “Can’t Madame Pomfrey sort him out again?”

“I guess it was some sort of … the Death Eaters…” explained Ron, and Neville made a strangled gagging sound in his throat. Harry remembered that Neville’s parents had been cursed by Death Eaters, and he shuddered. 

“It  _ was _ a curse,” explained Hermione with exaggerated patience, once again surfacing from her book. “You know he’s Head Boy this year, right?”

“So he’s using a wheelchair now?” asked Ron with interest, undeterred from the previous conversation.

“He uses crutches sometimes,” said Hermione.

“I saw him at St. Mungo’s,” said Harry thoughtfully. “I didn’t really know how badly he’d been hurt until then.”

“Hey, you were off at Durmstrang, mate,” said Ron in a tone that told Harry he was holding both palms outward. 

“I wonder what else I missed,” said Harry glumly, more to himself than to his friends. 

“Knitting,” said Hermione brightly, answering his rhetorical question and still trying to change the subject. 

“Knitting? At Hogwarts now, too?” Harry’s tone held distaste. “Durmstrang taught knitting and I could never see why.”

“It’s an ancient magical practice,” began Hermione, but Ron cut her off. 

“We’ve arrived!” he called as the train whooshed to a stop at Hogsmeade Station. 

Everyone became very busy collecting parcels and bags, and their conversation was forgotten. Ron dashed out to find their group a carriage whilst Harry unfolded his cane, mentally blessing the darkness. Although he loved being able to see light again and get information that light provided, he had forgotten just how much pain accompanied each shaft of light and how welcome a relief the darkness was. 

The corridor of the train was clogged with students, and Harry hung back, waiting for the crowd to clear a bit before he made his way onto the platform. As usual, Hermione offered to help, but this time Harry wanted to use his newly reclaimed vision, poor as it was, and go at his own pace. 

Thankfully, Hermione didn’t huff about it and simply left the carriage on her own. Neville wandered along behind Harry, calling out for his toad, who had hopped away among the throngs of students. 

With his cane, Harry traced the corridor and found the right-hand turn to the stairs. He tipped his face toward the night sky, wondering if any stars would penetrate the dim blur that was all he could see. None did, but the soft glow from the lanterns on the side of the platform greeted him like friends, and he remembered that their light was a deep yellow, although he couldn’t see the color now. 

“There you are, Trevor,” said Neville behind him, and Harry grinned. How long had Neville been chasing that ridiculous amphibian?

He stepped lightly onto the platform and followed the crowd of students toward the waiting carriages. 

“Harry! Over here!” Ron’s voice directed him toward the carriage he had chosen. 

“Come on, Neville,” he said with a smile over his shoulder, remembering what it felt like to need a welcome. 

He followed the sound of their voices toward the carriage in which they sat; Neville, trailing him, was still distracted by his struggling toad. Harry felt soft fingers on his wrist and immediately recognized Gemma’s touch. 

He turned to her and signed a greeting and held his hands up to her so that she could respond underneath them. The carriage tilted as they climbed aboard and once they were settled, it began its creaky ascent toward the castle. 

“What pulls these things, anyway?” asked Harry, but was diverted from his question by Trevor the toad hopping into his lap with a plop. 

He gathered the toad, which seemed to be all squirming legs and feet and squashy body and handed it back to Neville. “Ugh. Here, Neville, keep this guy to yourself.”

“Who’s up for a pick-up Quidditch game tomorrow?” asked Ron brightly, and Harry signed his words to Gemma. 

“I need to study,” signed Gemma vaguely, and Harry wondered why she didn’t want to play, but he didn’t want to pry. 

“Nah, I need to practice my knitting,” he said playfully, signing as he spoke.

Gemma whacked him lightly on the shoulder.

“What? I do!” he defended in mock seriousness. “You sound like Hermione, studying all the time. Where is she, anyway?”

“As if you would ever turn down a chance to play Quidditch!” she said, the grin evident in her hand motions under Harry’s cupped palm.

He gave an exaggerated shrug.

Ron answered Harry’s question: “Hermione ran off when she got out of the train. I saw her talking to Cedric on the platform.”

“Maybe it was Prefect business,” responded Neville.

“I’m a Prefect! No one said anything to me. And anyway, she always rides with us,” said Ron.

The carriages pulled up to the front of the castle, and this time he took Gemma’s elbow, squinting against the flood of light pouring from the open door of Hogwarts.

In a group, they climbed the front stairs and passed into the entrance hall. The now-familiar feeling of homecoming settled around Harry like a cozy, invisible blanket. He closed his eyes for a moment in order to picture the scene in full color and detail in his mind’s eye: the warm brown of the stone, the glow of the torches, the paintings and faces, and hundreds of black school robes. 

Opening his eyes again to the gray blur, washed out by overexposure, almost made him wish he still saw nothing. In so many ways it was harder to see little than none at all, and certainly, it was more painful. He shook his head slightly to clear these troubling thoughts.

“Oi! You coming, mate?” called Ron, and he realized he’d relinquished Gemma’s arm and was standing alone, brooding. 

“Sorry, coming,” he said, raising a hand. 

He followed the crowd into the Great Hall, lit brightly by the hundreds of floating candles overhead. This time it was Ron who tugged at his sleeve, guiding him to join his friends at their place along the Gryffindor table. 

Harry found the bench with his cane and then ran it along the edge to make sure no one was sitting there already and swung his legs over to sit next to Ron. Someone sat down next to him and he leaned toward them, uttering, “Hi?”

“It’s just me, Harry,” Neville said. 

Harry ran his hand over the table, finding familiar patterns in the gouged wood. He was glad to be back at Hogwarts. The clamor in the hall quieted to a hush and Harry turned his face toward the headmaster’s table, imagining that Dumbledore had done something to indicate that he was going to speak. But instead, there was a murmur of confused whispers that grew to an expectant hum as the students shifted on the bench. 

“What is it?” Harry whispered to Ron. 

“Huh? Oh. I dunno. New people?” 

“What do you mean, new people? New teachers?” asked Harry.

“What? Criminy!” Ron exclaimed.

“Where’s Hermione?” Harry asked, exasperated that Ron was being so inattentive. 

“I dunno. She’s not here, either!” Harry could feel Ron twisting next to him, scanning the crowd for Hermione.

“Neville, do you know what’s going on?” Harry leaned forward. 

“There’s a couple of new witches at the teacher’s table and a wizard. Ugh. They look kind of creepy.”

“Oh, how so?” Harry asked, relieved to be getting more information. 

“Er, they seem even meaner than…” but Neville stopped talking when Dumbledore began to speak, welcoming them all back to Hogwarts. 

As Dumbledore was introducing new staff, someone made a small but clearly audible cough that made Harry shiver though he wasn’t sure why and Dumbledore stopped the introductions. There were surprised gasps from the students and then a mawkish voice rang through the hall and Harry remembered where he’d heard it before. 

“What’s she doing here?” Harry gasped.

“What do you mean? Do you know her?” Neville asked.

“She was at my trial,” Harry said as the bile began to churn in his gut. 

“What is she talking about?” Neville said in an undertone. 

“No idea. I wish Hermione were here. She’d know.” 

“Yeah,” Neville said glumly. 

Just when Harry thought things couldn’t get worse, the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic announced that not only was she instrumental in bringing the Carrow twins to Hogwarts to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, she informed the hall that she herself was going to remain at Hogwarts this year as well providing additional security during uncertain times. 

“Gah! I didn’t think it could get any worse!” Harry lamented. “The Carrows, here! I thought Dumbledore would have stopped them!” 

“What? You knew?” Ron asked.

“It came up at my trial,” Harry murmured. 

“Additional security? What does that even mean?” Ron asked, dropping his head on the table with a thud. 

“We really need to find Hermione. Where is she?” Harry as he strained to hear her familiar voice over the unsettled mutterings at the Gryffindor table and the rest of the hall. 

When it was finally time for dinner, Harry’s stomach was a tight ball and the thought of food made him nauseated. He sat quietly while the dishes popped into being on the table and the normally heavenly aromas assaulted his senses. He noticed that Neville was also reluctant to dig in, but Ron and Seamus pounced on the dishes as soon as they appeared and in no time were masticating and gulping in their typical fashion. 

Harry shook his head.

“Wha—?” Ron said through a fog of mash. 

“I had just forgotten what it was like…” Harry trailed off. 

“What was like?” 

“Er, nothing,” Harry said, not wanting to start a fight on the first night of the term. 

“Er, whatever. Say, pass the peas, please!” Ron asked. 

“Where are they?”

“Over there… er. Sorry mate. Forgot. Neville? Can you?” Ron stammered. “Aren’t you going to eat, Harry?”

“Nah. Not hungry.”

“That’s a first!” Ron said, thudding him on the back. 

Harry closed his eyes and willed his stomach to stop roiling. At long last, the meal was over and the hall erupted as students were dismissed to their respective houses. 

The crowd of excited Gryffindors surged toward their tower, but Harry trailed behind them, having lost track of his friends in the throng. Morosely, he thought about what Umbridge had said, and about having the Carrows here. He wondered if they had brought Alexei with them.

At last, he found himself arriving at the Fat Lady, just as the last of the others went in, and he nipped through before she closed again, which was good, since he hadn’t heard the new password yet. 

In the common room, people milled about, setting up future plans before heading up to their dormitories. 

“Harry! There you are, mate!” said Ron, who had obviously been scanning the crowd. “Do you know where Hermione is? I still can’t find her.”

“No idea,” replied Harry, who had long ago given up trying to keep track of other people he couldn’t see. Either they found him or he had no idea, and had learned not to let it bother him much. 

It bothered Ron. “She should be here. Our prefect duties and reports were done ages ago. What if she doesn’t know the password?” he worried. 

“She’s fine,” soothed Harry. “If anyone knows the password it’s Hermione. She is probably off with Cedric.”

“Cedric?” Ron sounded startled. “Why would she be with him?”

“I don’t know,” said Harry carelessly. “It just seems like every time I see her lately they are together.”

Ron took this information in without comment. 

“I’m going up,” said Harry, beginning to pick his way through the crowded room, his cane held vertically in front of him so he didn’t trip anyone. “Coming?”

“Sure, I suppose so,” said Ron a little glumly. He followed Harry toward the stairs. 

Once in the dormitory, Harry discovered that someone was already there but he couldn’t quite determine who it was. 

“Hey,” he said in greeting, hoping for more clues. 

“Harry, hey!” said the Unknown. 

“Hi Dean,” Ron chimed in without enthusiasm, and Harry’s problem was solved. 

“What’s eating him?” asked Dean, but Harry just grinned. 

“Know what I heard?” asked Dean rhetorically. Ron had opened a packet of crisps and was munching. Harry turned toward Dean. “You know Cedric Diggory, right?” Ron choked on a crisp. 

“Sure, why?” asked Harry. 

“I heard that he is making a common room,” started Dean. 

“He is a Hufflepuff. They have a common room,” said Ron around his coughs. “They call it some badger-den word.”

“Not a Hufflepuff common room,” Dean explained. “A common room for all the houses.”

“Together?” asked Ron skeptically. 

“Brilliant!” exclaimed Harry. “At Durmstrang, we were all together, you know. It didn’t matter which House we were in.”

Ron popped another crisp in his mouth, as if trying to assimilate this astounding new idea. 

“I heard that he wants people from all the houses to go there,” Dean went on. 

“Where is it?” asked Harry. 

“I don’t know,” Dean said, turning back to his trunk. 

“Slytherins won’t come,” predicted Ron. 

“Adrian will,” said Harry loyally. 

“They’ll kill him,” Dean put in thoughtfully. “Ron’s right.”

“He’ll come,” stated Harry, turning to his bed, where he found not only his trunk but also boxes of Braille books in stacks. He’d assumed that the three Madame Worthington had shown him were all there were, but the towering, uncountable numbers of boxes by his bed told him differently. 

“What classes are you guys taking?” he asked. “Are either of you taking Ancient Runes?”

“No way. Too much work,” laughed Dean. “Are you? Why, mate?”

Harry didn’t want to tell him that the reason he had signed up for Ancient Runes was because he already had one of the books and it didn’t involve him having to point his wand at anything he couldn’t see or mix anything or try and make star charts. He didn’t think Dean or Ron would understand, so he shrugged. “I dunno.”

“What girls are in Ancient Runes?” Dean asked in a teasing voice. “We’ll find our answer there, I’ll wager.”

“Not a girl.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“Methinks he doth protest too much,” quoted Dean, and a second later, Dean’s pillow came out of nowhere to smack Harry upside the head. 

Harry snorted and threw it back. Dean retaliated with a tackle, which Ron joined, and soon an all-out tumble ensued. When Seamus and Neville entered the room a short time later, they found the three panting on the floor all finishing Ron’s bag of crisps. Harry had found his appetite again.

When Harry, at last, got back to his trunk and his boxes of books, he discovered something else when he sat on his bed: something furry and squashy and very alarmed at being under him. It hissed and swore and spat as he leapt to his feet.

“Crookshanks!” he said to the big, fluffy, orange cat. “What are you doing up here? Shouldn’t you be with Hermoine?”

Now that he was no longer flattened under Harry, the cat stretched out and began to purr, kneading the blankets with his front claws. Harry knew he wouldn’t transform into Feliss Eliot the Auror here in front of all the fifth year Gryffindors, so he merely stroked the cat’s soft fur and smiled to himself. He felt glad Crookshanks was there.

Later, Harry walked along the stone corridor, swinging his cane absently in front of him. He was on the way to the hospital wing to visit Madame Pomfrey to follow the Healer’s orders to have his eyes checked eyes daily for two weeks longer. He also thought about asking for a potion from her to dull the headache that throbbed at his temples. He hadn’t completely gotten rid of it since the procedure at St. Mungo’s, although it sometimes rested growlingly in the background if he kept his eyes covered.

As he turned a corner, he came unexpectedly onto two people conversing earnestly with one another in low voices. Harry’s cane hit the metal wheels of a wheelchair with a reverberating  _ ping _ , and he knew it was Cedric.

“Err, uh, sorry, mate,” apologized Harry.

“No, it’s uhh…” Cedric began, obviously trying to find a place to get out of Harry’s way, but he was trapped against the stone wall of the corridor.

Suddenly Harry started to laugh. “No problem, mate,” he said. “Who is here with you?”

“It’s me, Adrian,” said Adrian Pucey, also awkwardly, and Harry laughed again. “We were just talking about Ced’s idea of a whole-school common-room. Have you heard about it?”

“I heard some talk…” 

“I asked Dumbledore about it and he thinks it’s a really good idea,” added Cedric enthusiastically. “But we need all the houses to use it.” He emphasized the word “all” and Harry realized why he had a Slytherin alone here to talk about it.

“I, for one, will use it,” stated Harry. “I have friends in other houses that I really want to talk to sometimes. Like we did last year.”

“Sure, the idea’s brill and all,” admitted Adrian. “ I just…”

“You have other Slytherins to deal with,” finished Harry.

Adrian sucked his breath in through his teeth but didn’t comment. Everyone pretty much knew what surviving as a Slytherin was like.

Harry wondered if Adrian would retreat back into some kind of shell again now that they were back at Hogwarts and never come out. He hoped not, because he’d enjoyed getting to know the older Slytherin last year and he hoped they wouldn’t be cut off as friends by stupidity and prejudice now. He realized Adrian was another student who had a disability. Of the few at Hogwarts, three were together in this corridor at this moment. Harry experienced a small shiver run up his spine. It couldn’t be an accident.


	10. Saturday sunshine

The next day dawned sunny and warm, and since it was a Saturday, Harry was free to head out to the Quidditch pitch before lunch with Ron, Fred, George, Angelina—who would be the new Gryffindor team captain—Ginny, and whomever else wanted to play. He dug his broom and adjustable dark glasses out of his trunk and then his fingers closed around his beeping Snitch. Quickly, he collected everything else he needed, grabbed his folded cane from the bed where it lay next to a snoozing Crookshanks, and headed outdoors.

The Scottish Highlands in early September were magnificent. Crisp, fresh air wafted through the old pines and firs of the Forbidden Forest, and the grass of the lawns of the castle was so green Harry could almost see it, colorblind though he was. At least he could smell it, earthy and fresh, with that unique sun-on-dried-hay smell that fall grass gets that can never be described or duplicated. He took a moment to breathe it in before heading toward the pitch at a jog, holding his cane tip above the grass to keep it from getting caught. 

Wearing the new lenses for the first time, he noticed that with a tap of his wand he could set them to whatever darkness he needed, and today, with the sun shining brightly, he needed them very dark, almost in blackout. The trouble with this was when he entered the team rooms on the way into the pitch, he could see nothing at all. He sighed, and found his way through the changing room with his cane. 

Most of the other Gryffindors had arrived at the pitch ahead of him, and were clustered on the grass discussing positions and teams.

“Oi! Harry!” Ron called. “There you are! We need a Seeker for our side.”

Harry raised his hand in acknowledgment as he dug the beeping Snitch out of his pocket, feeling, as always, the thrill of happiness as he felt the smooth round metallic orb sleeping in his hand.

Once in the group, he discovered that Ginny had been appointed the other Seeker. Ron would be Keeper for Harry’s team and also self-appointed team captain. Fred and George were on Ginny’s team, so Vicky and Alicia agreed to play Beaters for Ron. 

“I just need a Chaser,” Ron commented.

“I’ll play Chaser,” offered a voice Harry vaguely recognized. 

Everyone froze, and silence descended on the group. Harry wondered what was going on. Who had spoken and caused such an immediate surprised reaction?

“Sure,” he said, breaking the awkward pause.

“But he’s a SLYTHERIN,” hissed Ron in Harry’s ear, and Harry suddenly knew who had spoken. It was Adrian.

“And?” asked Harry irritably. “Your point?”

“A Slytherin,” repeated Ron, as if Harry were a bit slow. “This is a Gryffindor game. He’ll bring a bunch of his Slytherin friends next time and it’ll be no more fun.”

“Not necessarily,” countered Harry.

Adrian had stood quietly during this exchange, obviously listening but not offering his own defense. 

Ron hesitated, reluctant to agree, but finally, he said, “I don’t care. Do what you want.”

Harry flashed Adrian a grin and Adrian gave him a quidditch-handshake. Ron snorted, but didn’t say anything further.

Dean agreed to play Chaser for Ginny’s team with Katie Bell as Keeper. With these details finalized, Ron opened the box of Quidditch balls and released the bludgers and quaffle. 

Harry tapped his snitch with his wand. Immediately, it came to life, its delicate silver wings whirring and its beeper chiming. He threw it into the air, and grabbed his Firebolt off the grass at his feet. He wondered if he would ever lose the rush of adrenaline that kicking off gave him. He loved to fly.

As he had learned to do the previous two years, he circled the pitch above the level of the game that had begun with shouts and arguing as the bludgers quickly began finding their targets. Harry smiled to himself. Fred and George were good beaters: not just good at keeping the bludgers away from their own teammates, but also skilled at sending them directly at their rivals.

_ Concentrate _ , Harry told himself. 

He was accustomed by now to his own inability to distinguish the players below him from one another and had learned to follow the game through his ears and intuition. He also realized how little it actually mattered when all he needed to do was find the snitch. It was less of a distraction, really, when he couldn’t watch the game taking place around him.

Harry angled his broom a little higher, listening intently for the beep… beep… beep… that told him he was getting close. So far, he heard only the cheers below as Dean put the quaffle into the hoop, just past Ron, who hollered his frustration. 

Harry had no idea where Ginny was looking. He decided to try lower down. Descending into the game meant that he became a target for bludgers himself. He heard a  _ zing!  _ as one whizzed past his head, but one of his teammates batted it away before it could smack into him. 

The non-Gryffindor regulars weren’t used to warning him they were coming, which proved to be a problem also. Using the “Voy” call was something he had picked up from researching blind Quidditch teams and Oliver Wood had drilled the command into the Gryffindor team two years ago. 

Now, though, in a rowdy pick-up game, nobody bothered and Harry figured it was only a matter of time before he plowed straight into one of the other players. He circled the pitch, flying as close to the boards as he dared, listening to the echoes of sound as much as he relied on his blurry vision to tell where they were. 

He still didn’t hear the snitch or find Ginny. Frowning, he pulled upward again. 

All of a sudden, the pitch erupted in cheering and shouts of “Ginny!”

With disappointment creasing his brow, Harry landed on the grass and joined the others in congratulating Ginny and discussing the details of the game.

“Where was it?” Harry asked her.

“Really low next to the bottom of one of the hoops,” Ginny answered gleefully.

“Well done, wee one!” shouted Fred, giving Ginny a clap on the back that nearly knocked her over. Nothing daunted, she playfully punched him right back.

Harry couldn’t grudge her the victory, but he also couldn’t shake his own frustration. Flying low and near the poles was just really difficult now that he had so little vision, and the fact made him angry. The unfairness stung and he had to face the fact that he hadn’t looked there because he preferred not to take a pole to the face.

Not that he could explain any of that to his laughing, chattering housemates, and he found himself walking back to the castle somewhat behind them rather than with the group. Someone fell into step beside him.

“Stinks, doesn’t it?” asked Adrian.

Harry’s head came up.

“You noticed?” he asked.

“Sure. You would have caught it first if you could see to fly around the poles,” said Adrian matter-of-factly.

Having it stated so bluntly both infuriated and soothed Harry. 

“Exactly,” he agreed glumly. “Do you ever get tired of… well… coping?”

Adrian considered this. “I’m not sure I do cope,” he said honestly. “I pretty much failed all of my classes last year. I think they sent me to Durmstrang just to be rid of me for a year.”

“Can’t someone...err… read it to you? Or isn’t there some kind of a spell to read stuff…?” Harry asked lamely.

“Oh yeah,” answered Adrian sarcastically. “Can you imagine Millicent Bulstrode sitting down to read assignments to me?”

Harry had to laugh. 

“Slytherins have to fight to stay alive. We aren’t notorious for helping each other out,” said Adrian. “Not like Hufflepuffs.”

“True,” agreed Harry. 

Adrian seemed ready to change the subject. “Thanks for letting me play,” he said.

“No problem,” answered Harry absently. They had arrived at the entrance hall, so any further conversation would have to wait.

“See you around,” said Adrian in farewell as he headed off toward the dungeons and Slytherin’s common room.

“See you,” said Harry, wondering if he would be able to find Hermione. She seemed to be missing in action a lot lately, and he wondered what she was doing.

Instead of Hermione, someone else came up to him as he stood thinking just inside the castle doors. It didn’t take him long to discover that it was Gemma, her small hands grasping his to sign under them.

“Hi, Gemma!” he signed back to her.

“Mei is here with me,” she let him know. “Want to chat?” 

“Sure,” Harry agreed. “Outside?”

Gemma signed an affirmative, and the three of them went back out together. Harry wondered how Mei would navigate the front stairs in a wheelchair, but there seemed to be no problems.

“How do you do the stairs?” he asked, reminding himself to address them with gender-neutral pronouns. 

Gemma made an impatient gesture on his arm, and he realized he had forgotten to sign what he had said to Mei. 

“Sorry,” he said, and repeated the question in BSL.

“Oh, I know a spell to make part of the stairs into a ramp,” Mei said airily. “Let’s go down by the lake. I’m dying for a swim.”

Harry heard the  _ Scribulunt loqi _ papers fluttering by Mei’s mouth and realized that Gemma was reading their words.

“Sure,” he agreed.

Gemma signed a happy “yes,” and they set off.

“Do you ever wish we were all back at the Center?” asked Mei, as the three reached the lake, and Mei eased themself into the water with a contented sigh.

“Why?” asked Gemma.

“Well, at the Center, everyone had some kind of disability. Even some of the staff. So it was… normal. I’m tired of everyone here treating me like a freak of nature,” Mei complained.

“I’m just sick of not being able to see,” growled Harry, and Gemma put her hand on his in silent sympathy. 

“I get tired of this… too,” agreed Mei, and Harry knew they referred to the tail and being  _ Jiāorén _ and everything they had gone through. “I mean, I like it sometimes, but sometimes I miss how… I used to be.”

“I miss hearing music,” signed Gemma. “I miss all the conversations that were just so… easy.”

Harry told them about the Quidditch game that morning and how he felt that his eyesight was directly responsible for his failure to catch the snitch. Somehow their understanding made him feel better. At least he wasn’t alone. He remembered Professor O’Carolan’s words about finding people who understood what he was going through. 

They each sat thinking, pondering how their lives had changed. Then, with a splash, Mei dismissed the conversation in favor of a swim. 

“Say hi to the merpeople,” Harry called teasingly, knowing Mei hated to be compared to the mermaids and mermen that lived in the lake but who were different entirely from the  _ Jiāorén _ to which Mei belonged.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Gemma signed into Harry’s hand.

He smiled at her, thinking how much he had relied on her friendship during their time at the Center and how glad he was that she was here at Hogwarts, too. 

“How was your summer?” she asked.

Harry grimaced, and told her about the weeks with the Dursleys, and the dementors and the Inquisition. Then he laughed and told her about Sirius acting the part of guide-dog.

Gemma signed her laughter onto his palm. She told him about her days at the seaside with her family, while enduring the stares of strangers who only saw her scarred face.

Harry pressed his lips together in sympathy. Shared understanding was all he could offer, but he knew from experience just how much it meant to have even that.

“Time to get back. Dinner,” she signed, and he agreed, taking her elbow and following her back to the castle.

[break]

After dinner on Sunday night, Harry decided that it was finally time to cast the translation spell to turn the schedule that Professor McGonagall handed out on Friday into braille so that he could read it. 

“Ugh,” Harry said as he ran his fingers lightly over the raised dots. 

“What is it?” Ron asked, hand on Harry’s shoulder as he peered over it. He sighed and settled down in the chair next to him. 

“I have Defense Against the Dark Arts with Umbridge on Monday morning. I thought the Carrows were teaching it? Why is she listed as the Professor?”

“I dunno,” Ron muttered, his own schedule crinkling in his hand as he smoothed out the parchment to read it. “But she’s gotta be better than them, right?”

“Are you taking Ancient Runes?” Harry said, trying to shrug off the nagging feeling that Umbridge might be worse than the Carrows… if that was possible. 

“Naw. Divination.”

“Why? I thought you despised it?” 

“Naw. It would have been loads more fun with you, but it’s not so bad. And besides, I got to sit next to Lavender and Pavarti last year.” Ron’s voice squeaked when he said Lavender’s name and Harry nudged Ron, smiling in his direction. 

“What?” Ron responded, defensively. 

“Nothing,” Harry said, trying to swallow the smile. He focused on reading through his schedule. 

Later that evening in the boys’ dormitory, Harry sighed as he tackled the huge pile of braille books next to his bed.

“Blimey, Harry! You’re not loading your bookbag already? Cor! That can wait until tomorrow morning, right before class. Let’s play another game of exploding snap before Hermione’s harping on us to map out our schedules!” Ron said as he nudged Harry playfully in the ribs with his elbow. He picked up things that Harry had laid out on his bed and set them down again. 

“Oi! Ron! Where’d you put my slate?” Harry asked when he reached for it and didn’t find it where he’d laid it. 

“Oh, sorry mate. Is it this thing?” Ron said, shoving a small object into his hand. Harry felt it for a second, turning it over in his hand —smooth wood with a small dull metal needle protruding from the center of the nut-shaped handle —his stylus . 

“No, but I need that, too. The hinged metal tablet with cells… for writing braille… you remember?” 

“Oh, yeah. This thing,” Ron said, as he opened and closed the hinged plates. 

“Yeah, I need that. You’re going to bend it, mate!” 

“Here you go! Don’t get unhinged!” Ron snorted. 

Ron wandered off to find someone else to play exploding snap with him while Harry finished packing his bookbag with everything he’d need for classes the next day. It was a lesson he’d learned two years before when he’d first lost his sight. He couldn’t leave things to the last minute and then rush around stuffing things haphazardly into his bag and expect to find them when he needed them. ‘Everything in its place and a place for everything’ was a mantra that not only prevented frustration, but also injury. Professor O’Carolan had said it so many times that the phrase repeated in his head in the Professor’s voice as he organized his bag.

“Hey, Harry!” It took a second for Harry to identify the voice as Dean Thomas’. He’d entered the dormitory, breathless from careening up the stairs at a break-neck speed. The door crashed against the wall sending Crookshanks up into the air in a yowling, spitting mass of fur. “You gotta see this! Er. I mean, you should come down to the common room.” 

“What is it, Dean?” Harry said, his ears still ringing from the slamming door. He hesitated a moment before he tried to find Crookshanks to soothe his hackles.

“It’s… er… someone wants to talk to you,” Dean said. 

“Who is it?”

“That Ravenclaw fish-girl!” Dean said, his excitement making his voice crack.

“Oh, don’t let Mei hear you calling them that!” Harry cautioned, hoping that Dean’s voice hadn’t carried down the stairs to the common room. “They won’t like that!”

“Come on! I don’t want to miss it,” Dean said, pulling Harry away from his bed. 

“Miss what?” Harry wrenched his arm out of Dean’s grasp. 

“She looks fit to be tied. I’ve heard she’s got a wicked temper.”

“Oh, well. Yeah,” Harry said, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth as he remembered some of Mei’s outbursts from their time together at the Center. “They are not that bad once you get to know them.”

“Sure. I’ll take your word for it,” Dean said, edging toward the door. 

“I’ll come on my own. You go ahead. I’ll be there in a second,” Harry said, turning to his bedside table where his folded cane lay. 

He shook it out and followed Dean down to the common room… thinking fondly of Grimmauld place: a space where he could mostly navigate without his cane while at home because his roommates were thoughtful enough to remember to tidy up after themselves and close cupboard doors. 

“Harry! Took you long enough!” Mei said as he approached them. 

“What is it?” Harry asked, inexplicably worried about Gemma.

“Too many people watching us in here. Let’s go out to the corridor,” Mei said, the wheels of their chair squeaking on the stone floor as they turned toward the portrait hole.

“How do you get through the portrait hole?” Harry asked before really thinking about the question. 

“Oh, it opens all the way to the floor for me,” Mei said. 

“Er, really? Why doesn’t it do that for me?” Harry said as his cane tinged against the metal of Mei’s chair ahead of him.

“You never asked,” replied the haughty voice of the Fat Lady who guarded the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. 

“It just never occurred to me that there was another way,” Harry said as he walked through behind Mei without his usual awkwardness of having to find the hole with his cane and jump over the frame. With his bookbag, it was even more cumbersome, and more than once, he’d tripped on his way through and ended up sprawled on the floor. 

“You’d think that someone who can fly as gracefully as you could get through a portrait hole,” Mei sniggered. 

“Well, if I were on a broom that would be another matter.”

“If only we could fly them in the castle,” Mei sighed. “That’s actually what I needed to talk to you about. That Umbridge toad has told Flitwick that I can’t try out for the Ravenclaw team!” 

“What! But we already went through all this before! Why is it an issue again?” Harry could feel his rage gathering heat in his belly.

“She’s claiming that I’m a danger to the other players because I can’t sit astride a broom!” Mei’s words were punctuated by the squeak of their wheels as they rocked back and forth on the spot in the small alcove where they were talking.

“If she’s saying that about you, what will she say about me? Or Gemma? Or Cedric?”

“Yeah. That’s why I wanted to tell you right away. When are Gryffindor tryouts?”

“Angelina hasn’t set the date yet,” Harry said. 

“Well, that’s good… maybe you can let her know… maybe there’s a way to… I dunno, get around it.”

“What do you mean? Like having private trials? How would that stop Umbridge?”

“Well, I was reading up on the regulations… you know they were written hundreds of years ago. There are some pretty arcane rules that most people aren’t familiar with… and one of them is that a Quidditch captain’s selections, if done using a certain ritual, are magically binding and no other entity, not even the Ministry of Magic can interfere,” Mei said in a hushed whisper, that really wasn’t necessary since they had cast a privacy spell over the alcove when they first entered.

“Huh. Do you have the book where you read that? Could I share it with Angelina?” Harry asked. 

“Yes,” Mei said as they pressed a scroll into Harry’s hand. “I also made copies for the Hufflepuff and Slytherin teams.”

“Oh, good thinking.”

“I gave the Hufflepuff one to Gemma to give to Cedric. Can you give this one to that Slytherin friend of yours? What’s his name? Adrian?” Mei pressed another one into Harry’s hand. 

“Sure. Hmmm. I think we need to be careful. Umbridge. I think she might be more dangerous than the Carrows… and that’s saying something. She was at my trial this summer. I got a bad feeling from her.”

“You should see how she looks at you. Gives me the creeps,” Mei said, shuddering. 

“Well, I guess there are some advantages!” Harry said, laughing and waving his hand toward his eyes. “It’s hard enough just listening to her.”

Harry wasn’t completely surprised when Mei punched him on the arm.


	11. Elder Futhark

A desk appeared seemingly out of nowhere as Harry entered the Ancient Runes classroom and he flopped into it, folding his cane and dropping it into his school bag, which was bursting with books.  _ Ancient Runes Made Easy _ by Laurenzoo had eight volumes in Braille. He’d only brought the first one.  _ Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms _ had twelve volumes,  _ Spellman’s Syllabary _ also had twelve, and the  _ Runic Dictionary _ had a whopping twenty-four! Compared to that,  _ Advanced Rune Translation _ by Yuri Blishen seemed almost small with only four volumes. [A/N: HPOotP has 9 volumes!] He hoped he didn’t have to bring all of them to every class. 

More students trickled into the stone classroom, which smelled like it was full of books, books and more books, and someone sat at the desk ahead of Harry, then turned around. 

“Hello, Harry, it’s Luna,” she said in her vague way. 

“Hi Luna,” Harry greeted her warmly, but before he could make further conversation, he felt a tap on his left arm. 

He realized it was Gemma signing “Hello,” and he turned to greet her enthusiastically in BSL. 

“Hi Gemma,” said Luna, and Harry wondered if she was also signing or using the  _ Scribulunt Loqi _ charm. He didn’t hear any papers fluttering by her mouth that transliterated what she said so Gemma could read it, so he assumed she must be signing.

“You two have met?” he asked rhetorically.

Gemma took his hands gently and signed under them that she met Luna previously and Luna learned some BSL but since they were in different houses, they didn’t get a chance to chat much.

“I like how she signs under your hands so you know what she is saying,” commented Luna.

“Err, thanks,” said Harry. “It’s called Pro-Tactile.” 

Gemma made a small happy sign and then she explained that her class interpreter had come and she needed to speak to him before class started.

It wasn’t long before the usual hush fell over the class, indicating that the Professor had stepped forward. 

“Good morning, class, I am Professor Bathsheda Babbling.” Her voice had a pleasant smile in it, was a little low-pitched for a woman, and she sounded like the type who did not suffer fools gladly. “This is the Study of Ancient Runes, and there is a rumor going around that this class is a lot of work. That rumor is true.”

Harry groaned inwardly. Homework. He imagined Hermione hearing this introduction and throwing herself a secret little party and he almost smiled in spite of himself.

Professor Babbling continued, “Please turn to the introduction of  _ Ancient Runes Made Easy _ on page six and observe the Runic Alphabet you see there.”

Harry dug through his bag, reading in his slow way the titles of each of the books that were written sideways on the cover so as to be conveniently felt. By the time he had found the right book, everyone else had theirs open on their desks. He felt his face redden. He flopped his open on his desk and began feeling in the upper corners for the page numbers that corresponded to the pages in the print books. (The Braille page numbers were in the bottom corners). As he got more nervous he had more trouble reading the embossed dots.

Silence descended and he realized they were all waiting for him. He didn’t know whether to feel pleased or embarrassed. He flipped page after page, frantically looking for the number six, but he kept turning past it. The silence became shuffling and coughing.

At last, oh, at long last, he found it, let the book settle and raised his face to the Professor.

“Mr. Finch-Fletchly, would you please read the opening paragraph aloud on page six?” asked the Professor, her voice completely normal and unbothered, as though Harry had not just taken ten times longer to find a page number than anyone else in the class. Following her lead, the group also settled, and Harry found his discomfort melting away. He couldn’t read fast enough to follow along, but he listened as Justin read about a brief history of Runes, and the fact that they each had a meaning and magical power. He found that he was becoming fascinated, and also discovered that his book had a tactile drawing of each rune, along with a braille letter that would refer to it in the text. He carefully felt the lines of the symbols, imagining Vikings long ago, during the icy winters, carefully carving the first books of magical lore, and the Druids, in their forest dwellings infusing them with meaning and power.

He was surprised to find the class passing quickly, and almost felt disappointed when it ended. As the students rose to leave, Professor Babbling approached his desk.

“I understand that your books contain several volumes each for this class?” she asked Harry, and from the height of her voice, he could hear that she was very tall.

“That’s an understatement,” he said wryly, then immediately regretted his candor with a teacher.

“I propose a solution, then,” she said with a smile. “Why don’t you store the books for this class here in the classroom and only take the ones you need for homework? You may also use this room for homework in the evenings if you wish.”

“Wow, err, that would be really great, thanks!” said Harry gratefully. “Do you have enough room in here though?”

“I imagine I have more shelf space than you do in your dormitory,” she said with another smile.

“That’s true,” admitted Harry. “I’ll bring them later on. This is really brilliant. Thank you, Professor.”

“No problem,” she said graciously and strode away.

Gemma had been waiting for Harry. She tapped his arm and signed under his hand, “What was that about? You in trouble on the first day? Grin.”

“You know me!” Harry signed back with a wink. “No, she said she’d let me put my books in here because they are so big.”

“Nice,” Gemma responded. “Lunch? I’m starving!”

“Wish we could sit together like we did at the Center,” Harry commented.

“I like — ——— friends but I’d — with you —— if I could,” Gemma signed so fast that Harry missed most of it.

“Whoa, slow up,” he laughed. “Your what friends?”

“ **_B-A-D-G-E-R_ ** friends. Hufflepuffs. But I’d like to sit with you today,” she replied.

“We might be able to soon,” said Harry.

“How?” she asked.

“A new common room,” explained Harry.

“How will that help?” she queried.

“It’s a common room for all the houses. A Hogwarts common room.” Harry hoped he was getting the signs right. It was so hard to remember finger shapes he had never seen, and although he’d felt them in his hand and tried to picture them in his mind, he still forgot more than he would have liked.

“That sounds great,” Gemma said with a happy nudge against his shoulder. “Now, lunch.”

“You  _ are _ hungry,” laughed Harry, and he took her elbow. They had walked so much at the Center with Gemma guiding and both enjoying the connection that allowed quicker communication that it felt like second nature now, although he rarely allowed other friends to guide him. Gemma was a good guide: thoughtful and conscientious and she never forgot to mention stairs up or down with a gentle gesture, so he could relax when walking with her. She also never made a big deal out of guiding him; she never got flustered or anxious; never shouted out directions or called attention to him. She was pretty much the perfect guide.

They reached the Great Hall and headed to their separate tables. Ron called out to Harry, who joined him at the Gryffindor table. Lunch was fish and chips, one of Harry’s favorite easy-to-eat meals. 

“How was Ancient Runes?” asked Ron, loading his plate with food.

“Better than I expected,” answered Harry. “Could you dish mine up too, mate?” He decided that asking for help was preferable to chips going all over the Gryffindor table. 

“Sure. Hand your plate over,” said Ron, accustomed by now to this sort of request.

“Brill, ta,” said Harry, holding out his plate, which Ron promptly filled and handed back.

“What did you expect?” asked Ron, his mouth now full of chips or mash or something.

“Dullness,” said Harry, and took a bite.

Ron chuckled in agreement.

Harry swallowed and continued. “But it wasn’t bad at all. One thing, though, I’m going to get faster at reading. Or die,” he added with a grim laugh, forking mash into his mouth.

“I saw the boxes in your room. Blimey, they gave you plenty of books!” Ron agreed in sympathy.

“Books?” asked Hermoine, sitting across from them.

“Where have you been?” asked Ron accusingly.

“Oh, around,” Hermoine’s answer seemed deliberately vague.

“Around with  _ Cedric _ ?” asked Ron, his voice a shade louder.

“Who’s asking?” hotly retorted Hermoine. “Anyway, what’s this about books, Harry?”

“Only that I have about a million this year, and I’m taking Ancient Runes, and that class alone has over fifty volumes,” Harry answered, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

“Fifty volumes?” asked Hermoine in awe. “I loved Ancient Runes, by the way,”

“We know,” groaned Ron and Harry together.

“I can help you study if you want,” offered Hermoine.

“I’m going to need all the help I can get,” said Harry, but he couldn’t hide the grin under his self-pitying tone.

“You liked it!” accused Hermoine, reaching across the table to throw a chip at Harry. “Isn’t Professor Babbling the greatest?”

“She seems nice,” was all Harry would commit to saying. He wasn’t ready to join Team Hermoine in front of Ron.

“Have you picked your own personal Rune yet?” asked Hermoine.

“My what?” queried Harry.

“A personal Rune?” asked Ron. “Like to sign your name?”

“It’s a lot more than that,” explained Hermione. “It has meaning for you and power for protection.”

“Mmm, I guess not yet. Not on the first day,” replied Harry.

“You should as soon as possible, especially considering the new teachers here this year,” she said, lowering her voice. It sounded from her voice angle like she was observing the Head table.

“The Carrows you mean?” asked Harry, leaning in toward her.

“You had them last year at Durmstrang, mate. What are they like?” asked Ron.

“Creepy,” answered Harry. “I’m sure they’re Death Eaters, but how much can they do if Voldemort isn’t around?”

Ron nearly choked on a chip and Hermione shifted in her seat.

“Come off it guys. Really?” asked Harry. “Still? With the He-Who-We-Don’t-Ever-Say-His-Name-Because-Why stuff? And the Carrows. I’m pretty sure they were at my Inquisition this summer at the Ministry of Magic.”

“How do you know?” asked Ron skeptically.

“Well, we were all walking out. I was with Sirius and Remus. And I smelled this smell. I couldn’t place it then. But I remember now what it was. The Carrows both wear Dragonhide jerkins. I’m not sure if they think they just look cool or if they’ve both lost their sense of smell, but it was useful for me last year to be able to tell they were coming! Those things have a pretty foul aroma.”

“They are brother and sister, I think,” stated Ron.

“Twins,” added Hermoine, for once laconic.

“Have you heard why Professor Sinistra is gone for the year? Why are the Carrows even teaching Astronomy and Knitting?” asked Harry.

“I heard Professor Sinistra was on sabbatical. I guess she is going abroad somewhere, probably with Petro, her son,” said Ron. “Nothing scary, but still, I don’t like the replacement!”

“Me neither!” agreed Harry. “Hermione, are you taking knitting?” 

“No, I already… wait. Are you?” Hermione whipped her head around so fast to look at Harry that she whacked him in the face with her hair. 

Harry sputtered trying to get the strands of hair out of his mouth. 

“Er, yeah. I didn’t have much to choose from… everything else was so visual. So, yeah. At least Luna and Gemma are going to be in there with me,” Harry’s shoulders slumped as he thought about another term of trying to untangle yarn and find dropped stitches.

“I hear that the second course has a scrying aspect to it, though,” Hermione said.

“Scrying?”

“You know. Reading visions… ” Hermione sounded like she was looking at him intently. 

“Great.” 

“It’s not like you have to see to have visions. Isn’t your Professor O’Carolan a seer?” Ron said. 

“Er. No. He jokes about it… says that it is something that sighties do… assume blind people have “the sight?” he said, making air quotes.

“Sighties?” Hermione said, sounding miffed. 

“You know. People who can see,” Harry said, smiling, knowing that it would yank her chain. 

“What? Are you a blindie, then?” Ron asked, through a mouth full of food. “Hey! He started it!” 

Harry heard the soft plunk of another chip as it bounced off of Ron’s head. Hermione was throwing food again. She let out a ragged sigh as Harry and Ron dissolved into giggles. 

“I don’t think…” but she didn’t finish the thought and Harry straightened up, trying to get a handle on his sniggering. 

“What don’t you think?” Harry asked, turning toward Hermione. 

“She’s gone, mate. Back to Ickle Ced-i-poo,” Ron said, slapping Harry on the shoulder and sighing heavily, his voice projected away from Harry as he presumably followed Hermione’s progress through the Great Hall. 

“Well, drat. I suppose I better work on finding the dungeon where the Carrows are teaching knitting, then,” Harry said as he swung his legs over the bench and shook out his cane. He hefted his bookbag onto his shoulder as Ron wished him good luck and made his way through the Great Hall to the corridor. 

Before he made it through the big doors, light footsteps approached him. He didn’t pay much attention to them at first because he assumed that it was just a firstie wanting to get an early start to class as well, but as they fell in step with him, a familiar scent brushed his nose. 

“Luna?” he asked. 

“Hi, Harry,” she answered. “Are you headed to the Knitting dungeons?” 

“Yep. Are you?”

“Yes, I need help getting the nargle nest out of my yarn. I’ve tried everything my father suggested… even the butterbeer cork bowl he sent me is not working. I hope Professor Carrow knows what will work,” Luna lamented. 

“My Aunt uses mothballs in her yarn basket, but I don’t suppose that would work,” Harry suggested. 

“Moth what? That sounds horrid,” Luna said in disgust. 

“Well, they stink to high heaven, that’s for sure,” Harry said, laughing and wondering what Luna was imagining. 

As they descended into the dungeons, the air grew heavier and dank. 

“Hmmm. I didn’t think the classroom would be like this,” Harry mused as he remembered the bright classroom (for Durmstrang anyway), the crackling fire, and the baskets of yarn that littered the knitting classroom. 

“Musty and damp,” Luna hummed in agreement. 

There was another odor hidden beneath the swampy miasma of the dungeons… it pricked at Harry’s consciousness. It was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. He inhaled, trying to get a better sense of it and coughed as smoke from the wall sconces invaded his lungs.

“Do you smell that?” Harry asked Luna. 

“Hmmm?” 

“I smell something funny,” Harry said. 

“Rotten pixie eggs?” Luna suggested. 

“Er, I don’t know what those smell like,” Harry confessed. 

“Mmmm. Well, they aren’t pleasant. Not unlike down here.” Luna’s voice turned and echoed as if she was in an archway and Harry stopped abruptly and backtracked, sweeping his cane in front of him until he found the doorway she’d disappeared through. 

The odor was definitely coming from this room. Strange shifting light was emanating from the corner of the room where the pungent smell seemed stronger. 

“Pardon me, Professor,” Luna’s lyrical voice rang in the space giving it a domed dimension, but she was immediately interrupted by a fierce bark as one of the Carrow twins shouted at them from across the room.

“Out! Out!” “What impertinence! Go away!” Feet pounded as the Professor advanced on them. 

Harry’s cane struck something in front of him. Luna’s foot, he decided, when she quickly tapped the back of his hand to offer human-guide. They spun around and went back through the arched doorway into the clammy corridor. 

“What were they brewing that they didn’t want us to see?” Harry asked in a low voice. 

“It wasn’t like anything I’ve seen Professor Snape brewing… it had dancing colors and forms, like ghosts… but not ghosts… it was something…” she trailed off. 

“I’ve smelled that before… I know I have,” Harry muttered to himself. 

“Do you want to sit over here while we wait for class to start?” Luna started veering toward the wall. 

“On the floor?”

“Naw. Someone’s carved a bench into the alcove here.” 

Harry tapped the tip of his cane and listened as the sound revealed a circular space in front of him. Torches sputtered on either side, their swaying light making the shadows in the corridor grow and recede. 

“It is a memorial,” Luna told him as they sat down on the bench. 

“Oh, is there a placard of some sort?”

“No, the ghost of the lady sits here sometimes. It was built for her.”

“Not Moaning Myrtle, I hope,” Harry said under his breath. 

Luna’s high-pitched laughter echoed off the alcove walls and she leaned into him, rocking as she gasped for breath. “No, no. She’s very different from Myrtle. You’d never confuse the two of them.”

Harry ran his hand over the surface of the bench. It was cool, rough stone, chiseled from the same rock that made the dungeon walls. His fingers found a small squiggly shape carved into stone and he traced it idly back and forth while Luna laughter finally settled down into gulps of air. 

He felt unsettled by the way the Carrows had run them out of the classroom… they were up to something, he was sure of it. If he could only remember where he’d smelled that potion before… 

**Author's Note:**

> We plan on updating once a month. Please let us know what you think.


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